-. ■■■..■ ; 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

shelf ----- g f^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



CAREY'S 



POETICAL W0RKS, 



S3 



INCLUDING A 



SELECTION OF POEMS 



BY HIS DAUGHTER, 



HELENA M. CAREY. 



9FQ0 

/ 



^co' f '- 



APR 25 1888 



COHOES, N. Y. : 

.1. & M. WALLACE, PUBLISHERS. 

1888. 



-p<^ ) a ^ 



C s 



Entered according to Act of Congress in year 1 888, by 

PATRICK CAREY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C. 



INTRODUCTION. 



BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 



There is a charm in the friendship and com- 
panionship of a man of poetic temperament. 
The charm is all the greater to the prosaic citi- 
zen, who, while he enjoys the reading of poetry, 
cannot clearly comprehend the mental develop- 
ment, which ereates the beautiful imagery 
which delights him. In the friendship and 
companionship of Patrick Carey, I have found 
the charm of which I speak. 

I confess that in my busy work-a-day-life, I 
have had little time to dream as do the poets ; 
and less time to enjoy, as I feel I could, the 
sweet and soothing influence of poetic creations. 
But I have read the poems written by Patrick 
Carey, and with many of the thousands of 
readers, of the daily and weekly newspapers, I 
have admired them. 



11 INTRODUCTION. 

Before I knew the author [ could picture the 
man. All his poems reflect his character. 
They show in the first place the cultured gen- 
tleman, tine-strung, highly imaginative. The 
man whose ideals are high, and whose aspira- 
tions are noble. His writings breathe in every 
line a love of truth and justice; a deep-rooted 
affection for the lovely, but woeful land of his 
birth ; and a devotion, all too rare in this indif- 
ferent age, to the Church of Christ. 

The success which he has achieved has been 
pleasing to me, as it has been to many; for in 
the popular recognition his talents as a poet 
has received, I have found, — and all his friends 
have found — a triumph, for a true and loyal 
Irishman; expatriated because of his intense, 
and perhaps indiscreet devotion to his native 
land. 

The Irishman who can read the patriotic 
poems printed in this book, and not exult in 
his heart, that here in free America, one able 
to sing the glories of Erin has found a refuge 
and a home ; has never been swayed by the 
tender thoughts, which our poet has clothed in 
such beautiful language. 

Knowing my friend as I know him, I fear 
that what I have said will not find favor in his 
eyes. At first, too modest to write a preface 
for his own book, he asked me as one of his 



INTRODUCTION. Ill 

friends and admirers, to pen a few lines by way 
of introduction. 

That I have done in my own poor way, 
would that I could do more. 

Whatever of merit lies in the poems, is left 
to the judgment of the reader. The sentiments 
they voice I know are sincere. Of the mere 
mechanical excellences of the poems, (and 
mechanical excellences seem to count for a 
great deal in modern verse,) the eritics must be 
the judges. 

William C. Cozier. 

Troy, N". Y., March 1st, 1888. 



THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



In presenting the following collection of 
poems to the intelligent and critical judgment 
of the American people, I feel I have under- 
taken a task, which, while elevated and refined, 
falls far short of the ideal for which it was in- 
tended. 

But, though their poetic merits may not 
reach the standard of critical taste, nor their 
profound depths alarm the superficial thinker, 
yet their purity and modesty, will, I trust, com- 
mend themselves to the guardians of such kin- 
dred virtues, as jewels more inestimable, than 
the cultured thought, more elaborately clothed, 
or more insidiously portrayed. 

The subjects of many of the poems are of the 
most edifying nature, — purely Christian in 
spirit and tone ; and directly appealing to the 
warmest sympathies of our nature. If other- 
wise excellent, out of the Ten Thousand lines 
herein printed, there is not one I would elimi- 



AUTHOR S PREFACE. V 

nate, as offensive to the most refined taste. 
The same Christian spirit pervades my daugh- 
ter's poems, for whom, more earnestly than for 
myself, I would ask generous criticism. 

Amid the galaxy of bright stars, that now, 
more than ever, in the Literature of this coun- 
try, adorns its sky; I am more willing to ad- 
mire their glory, than to emulate their fame ; 
content that I have performed my part, to the 
best of my poor ability. 

An Irishman by birth and instincts, and an 
exile through coercion, is it to be wondered at 
that I should nurture and preserve an undying- 
hatred for the tyrannical power that grinds 
my country under its despotic heel, and treats 
my countrymen as though they had no right 
to exist in any part of the world, much less 
their native land. To any one whom I have 
offended hy my writings and hostility to this 
inhuman government, and who is so base as 
not to sympathize with the cause of Freedom, 
I would say in the title of Charles Reade's 
novel : " Put Yourself in His Place," and ask, 
" Would I be more forgiving?" 

I have been the recipient of many kind words 
and encouragements from my patrons and the 
Press; which I shall ever treasure with the 
keenest sense of gratitude and pride ; among 
these is the following criticism from the Oath* 



VI AUTHOR S PREFACE. 

olic Weekly of December 11th, 1887, on the 
Discovery of America, to the writer of which 
I am deeply grateful ; 

"We shall publish next week a poem entitled the "The 
Discovery of America," written by Patrick Carey of Cohoes, 
whose poems of late, in the Catholic Weekly, have attracted 
such extended notice. Mr. Carey's latest and most ambitious 
effort, teems with striking metaphors, clothed in beautiful 
and appropriate language- The narrative is historically 
faithful; and the prosaic details of the work are so inter- 
woven with poetic sentiments; that the poem as a whole, 
satisfies the most exacting taste. "The Discovery of Ameri- 
ca " is a well written poem, and of itself, is sufficient to es- 
tablish Mr. Carey's reputation. We bespeak for it the com- 
Tnendation of critical readers." 

I have little more to acid, than to thank my 
kind patrons for their generous appreciation 
and support of my humble efforts, to some of 
whom, more than to myself, I shall owe what- 
ever success the future may bring. 

Patrick Carey. 

Cohoes, K Y., March 1st, 1888. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

Page 
Address to the Sea, ....... 36 

Address to the Sun, . . . . . 177 

A Drop of Water, ' . .66 

A Lingering Lover, . . . . . . 165 

Ambition, ........ 95 

America, ........ 15 

A Picture of Life, ....... 35 

April, 145 

Andersonville, . . . . . . . .21 

Boreas, ........ 74 

Charleston, ......... 27 

Columbus, ........ 82 

Carrier's New Years Greeting, . . . . .132 

Cohoes, ........ 158 

Cohoes in Rhyme, ....... 161 

Christmas Memories, ...... 179 

Damon and Phyntias, ...... 86 

December, ........ 42 

Decoration Day, ....... 29 

Decoration Day, — an ode, ..... 120 

Defeat of the Galatea, ...... 32 

Defeat of the Thistle, 33 

Defeat, 110 



Vlll TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

February, . . . . . . . . 143 

Fourth of July, 184 

Freedom's Barriers, ...... 81 

Friendship, 88 

God Is Light, ....... 47 

Had I My Life to Live Again, ..... 79 

Halloween, 108 

Harsh Words, 106 

Home, ........ 75 

Hope Deferred, ....... 166 

It Looks Like Spring, . . . . . . 115 

June, ......... 147 

Love of Land, ....... 92 

Labor Day's Song, ....... 140 

Labor's Remonstrance, . . . . . 170 

May, 89 

Memory, 130 

Memorial Day, ■ • - • ■ . . 142 

Moore's Visit to Cohoes, ..... 68 

Morning, 40 

Music, ........ 56 

Nature's Lessons, ....... 64 

Night, 134 

Old Grimes, 156 

Polaris, 94 

Purity, 102 

Shadows and Light, . . . . • . 45 

Shattered Hopes Continued, . . . . 166 

Song of Liberty, ....... 104 

Sunshine and Cloud, . . . . . .155 

The Discovery of America, ..... 1 

The Grave of De Soto, . . . . . .17 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. IX 

Thanksgiving, ....... 19 

The Bartholdi Statue, 25 

The Press, ....... 38 

To a Sea Shell, ....... 43 

To a Caged Eagle, ...... 48 

The Uncertainty of Life, ...... 50 

The Seasons, ....... 51 

To a Robin, ........ 54 

The River Set Free, ...... 57 

The Shipwreck, . . . . . . .58 

The Soldier's Grave, ...... 60 

The Song Bird, 62 

The Toiler, 70 

The Poet's Lament, • • • • • .71 

Thanksgiving Reflections, ..... 77 

To The Moon, 84 

The Rainhow, ....... 91 

The Captured Flags, ...... 93 

The Months, 97 

To The Planet Jupiter, . . . . • .101 

The Rejected Poem, . . . . • • 103 

To The Muse, Ill 

The Song of Labor, . • • • • • 113 

To a Star, . . . , 117 

The Diver, 121 

The Wonders of God, 123 

The Battlefield, 126 

The Sparrow, • • • • • • • ' • 137 

The Violet, • 146 

The Meeting of the Rivers, ..... 149 

Truth, 153 

The Torn Poem, 154 

The Turkey's Soliloquy, ..... 167 

The Tornado, 173 

Time's Ledger, ....... 175 

The Mother's Lament, • • • • • .181 

The Lover's Quarrel, ...... 187 



X TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

Venus, 172 

Washington, 119 

Wiggins, ........ 150 

Winter, ........ 65 

Winter's Specters, • • • • • • -183 



POEMS ON IRELAND. 

A Jubilee Scene in Bantry Bay, .... 227 

Aileen, . . 299 

An Irish Exile's Jubilee Ode, .... 240 

Aspiration, ........ 303 

Beauteous Kathleen. ...... 296 

Defiance, ........ 265 

Erin Aroon, • • . • • . . 291 

Erin Go Bragh, 225 

Evelyn's Hair, . . . . . • • 211 

Extei'mination, not Coercion, ..... 269 

Forster — In Memoriam, ..... 264 

Freedom's Hybrid, 290 

In Memory of Thomas Moore, .... 244 

Ireland, 208 

Ireland's Devotion and Destiny, .... 230 

Jubilee Reflections, • • • • • • -258 

Kathleen, 285 

Last Hours of Robert Emmet, ..... 206 

Liberty's Martyrs, • • • ■ • ■ 216 

Love of Land, ....... 238 

My Native Land, 236 

O'Driscoll's Daughter, ...... 248 

On Robert Emmet's Speech, .... 189 

On Tennyson's Jubilee Ode, ..... 253 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. XI 



272 
267 



283 
288 



On Tennyson's Colonial Ode, • 

On the Queen's Speech, 

Remembrance, ■ 

Shattered Hopes, 

St. Patrick's Day, 246 

St. Patrick's Day Redivivi, 276 

The Friends of Boyhood's Da>s, • » 221 

The Exile's Last Gaze, 223 

The Mitchelstown Horror, 

The Arrest of Father Keller, • • • • -274 

The Exile's Song, 281 

The Boycott, 287 

The Lost Bottle, 297 

The Union Jack, 293 

To My Mother, 279 

To James Clarence Mangan, .... :! 

Tullamore, ■■.••" 
Tyranny's Curse, 



218 
256 



RELIGIOUS POEMS. 

A Christmas Carol, • 
A Legend, 

Benevolence, 

Casting the Stone, 

Christ Before Pilate, ■ ... 

Christmas Night, 308 

,, ,, .... 306 

Death, ■ 

Easter Sunday, ■ 

Easter Thoughts, 

In Memoriam, • 

In Memory of a Friend, 

Life in Death, 340 



309 
350 

316 

313 
322 



341 

343 

351 



Xll TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

On the Death of a Friend, ..... 348 

Prayer, ......... 315 

The Presence of God, ...... 305 

The Palm — Palm Sunday, ..... 318 

The Agony, 319 

The Seven Dolors, • • • • • • • 32G 

The Via Dolorosa, ...... 328 

The Crucifixion, ....... 333 

The Resurrection, ...... 337 

The Ascension, ....... 345 

The Descent of the Holy Ghost, .... 347 

Who'll Roll Pack the Stone, 312 



HELENA M. CAREY'S POEMS. 

Affection's Memorials, ...... 399 

A Fourth of July Song, 391 

Autumn Leaves, ...... 390 

Boyhood's Freaks, ....... 394 

Death's Souvenir, ...... 370 

Devotion's Hymn, ....... 372 

Easter Song, ....... 367 

Farewell to Eilleen, 402 

Farewell to May, . . • ' • • • 381 

Gathering Lilies, ....... 392 

In Memory, ■ 400 

Ireland's Evergreens, ...... 377 

Joy 365 

Jane, ......... 382 

Memory of Departed Worth. . . . . 358 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. Xlll 

New Years Day. ....... 362 

November, ....... 403 

October, 360 

October's Glories, • • • • • • 391 

On the Death of a Friend, 397 

Pity, 366 

Regret, ......... 363 

The Soldier's Grave, ...... 356 

The Shamrock, 376 

The May Lily, 379 

The Light of God, 383 

The Resurrection of Natuie, .... 393 

The Snow, 404 

Thanksgiving Musings, ..... 374 

Thoughts, ........ 388 

To the Muse. 355 

To Sister Nellie, 369 

What the Star Saw, 384 

Youth's Memories, ....... 386 



CAREY'S POETICAL WORKS. 



-:o: 



THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

Eberia's sun rose clear and bright 
Flooding fair Palos in his light. 
Then stretching onward to the West 
Silvered the foam on Ocean's breast: 
That untried Ocean, vast, unknown, 
Xow 1 dazed beneath his fiery zone; 
That untried Ocean, soon the scene 
( )f man's unconquerable mein ; 
Of man's indomitable will, 
As godlike as his power and skill ; 
That untried Ocean soon shall glow, 
With pregnant sail as white as snow : 
That untried Ocean soon shall hear, 
The glorious sound of song and cheer : 
Shall mark the highway of the earth, 
Predestined at Creation's birth ! 



THE DISCOVERY 

But what great captain can we find, 
With grasp of will and force of mind. 
Whose daring would the vast explore 
From Tarik's wave to western shore, 
And plow those seas, ne'er plowed before. 

Already "midst the throng we see, 

Moving along in majesty, 

A stately form, erect and fair, 

With brow of Jove and snowy hair: 

Determination in his eye, 

And high resolve to dare, or die ; — 

' Tis he of men the truly brave, 

Who now tempts fortune and the wave, 

' lis he, Columbus, great and blest, 

Who seeks Cathay by sailing west. 

And now a hymn of praise is sung ! 

To Him whose name rests on each tongue ! 

For priests and laymen now unite, 

To praise the God of Love and Light ; 

To ask His blessing and His care 

For those who now the Ocean dare. 

Three caravels at mooring lay 

Whose snowy sail adorns the bay — 

Rude in construction — tempting winds, 

The argosies of daring minds ; 

Not e'en the Argonauts of old 

Who sought the fabled Fleece ot Gold, 



OF AMERICA. 

Embarked for Colchis with such pride, 
As they who now would tempt the tide. 

The daring hand now reach the shore, 
Their much loved captain gone before; 
Their children, wives, and freinds are met, 
With anguished hearts and deep regret ; 
Their tearful eyes the vast explore, 
And call up fears ne'er felt before ; 
Beyond the trackless ocean lies 
Kissing the rim of western skies ; 
Behind the beauteous land of Spain 
Thrice blessed is Isabella's reign — 
That glorious queen of fair Castile, 
The vanquisher of Boabidil. 

But oh ! for him the great Genoese, 
Whose tears are shed, who dares accuse 
The enterprise whose glory shed, 
Its lustre on a monarch's head. 

And now the parting hour draws nigh 
When tender hearts must say good-bye ; 
When loving wish and earnest prayer, 
Will sanctity the morning air ! 
When every feeling of the heart 

Is centered in those words — we part, 
With earth's fair hopes forever thrown 
Upon the breast of the unknown. 

(), what a theme for poet's pen 
This noble quest of daring men ; 



THE' DISCOVERY' 

( >, what a theme on which to write, 
To snatch a gleam from Nature's light : 
To paint in burning' words of tire, 
The mind that planned this bold desire ; 
But vain the effort, vain the thought, 
The mind is lost in what it sought. 

The caravels are set, and now, 
They face the west with sullen prow : 
The morning's sun behind them lies 
Kissing the rim of western skies ; 
Their captain in the first is seen, 
The Sancta Maria — Ocean's Queen — ■ 
Presage of Hope's expectancy — 
Protectress of the land and sea! 

The anguished moan of grief and pain. 
The earnest eye whose vivid strain, 
Would hold the shadows growing dim 
Beside the dark horizon's rim ; 
Those fading shadows soon shall lave 
Their gull-like breasts in western wave ; 
Shall leave behind a hallowed name — 
The everlasting wreath of fame. 

Look to the east, ere yet the wave, 
Shall roll above Hispania's grave : 
Look to the east, where Palos lies, 
Nestled beneath cerulean skies ; 
Look to the east, where sorrowing friends, 
Cndistinet utow,— indistinct blends 



OF AMERICA. 

With that last glance you e'er may gain 

Of "Europe's Queen,"— " Fair Sunny Spain/ 

Look! look again, the sea and sky 

Are met, and now brave hearts good-bye. 

Around, before, north, south, east, west. 

God's bound'ries on the Ocean rest ; 

His mercies now are thine to save 

The daring hearts that tempt His wave : 

Are thine thro' danger and thro' ill, 

The creatures of His Sovereign Will. 

Alas ! for man's stability 
On God's fair earth or boundless sea. 
T^he very courage he'd evoke 
Ere tested is too often broke ; 
80 was it now when Palos grew 
Indistinct o'er the waters blue ; 
80 was it, when with tearful grief 
They gazed their last on Teneritte ; 
Whose fiery cone, far reaching gave 
A lurid glow to eastern wave. 

And now, the last known land is passed. 
And countless fears come crowding fast ; 
The unexplored, uncertain, lies 
Unbroken 'neath the saffron skies, 
"Whose beauteous tints the west adorn, 
The reflex of the weeping morn: 
Whilst Hesperus, with silver crest, 
Lights up the arch, that bounds the west,— 



6 THE DISCOVERY 

The star of hope whose beck'ning ray 
N"ow cheers them on their trackless way' 

The night comes down upon that sea 
In all her dreaded panoply, 
Shadowing the heart with horrid fears, 
And forcing hack the coward tears, — 
Mistress of Thought, whose shadows roll, 
Across the mirror of the soul ! 
Mistress of Thought, whose silence brings, 
Our life before the King of Kings !' 

The terrors, which their fears awoke, 
Were quieted, as morning broke ; 
That August morning — weeping balm — 
Xow rose o'er ocean sweet and calm ; 
Now saw the blazing orb of day 
Rise in the east with fiery ray ; 
Light up the arching dome that erst 
Had hung in gloom o'er ocean's breast. 

Soft was the influence it threw 
Over that grim, rebellious crew, 
Whose furtive glance and pallid cheek 
Indexed the fears their tongues would speak 
Whose longing eyes now sweep the main, 
To catch in thought, one glance of Spain ; 
To wish them safely back once more, 
With loving friends, by Palos shore. 

But where is he whose genius gave 
A soul to silence and the wave V 



OF AMERICA. 

We find him filled with hope and cheer, 
A light that shines o'er doubt and fear ; 
We find him ere the morning's spent, 
As Abram praying 'fore his tent ; 
His god-like purpose glowing there — 
A sacrifice of love and prayer. 
We find him hopeful, radiant now, 
As though the laurels pressed his brow. 

He says, " My men, why do you fear ? 

A glorious land is drawing near ; 

The Indian islands of those seas, 

Are richer than Hesperides ; 

Are rich in gold and precious stones, 

That gleam beneath their fiery zones, 

With cities grander, prouder still, 

Than is Granada or Seville ; 

Than is Cordova or Madrid, 

Twixt loftier hills, and mountains hid ; 

Then follow me, those riches share, 

The sea and sky look bright and fair, — 

Be of stout heart, a glorious day, 

Shall beam when God lights up the way! ' 

The weary days, so long between, 

Dawned on one unvarying scene — 

Monotonously drear and lone, 

As sea-birds' cry, or ocean's moan; 

The morning came and saw the west, 

A darkened band 'gainst ocean pressed — 



THE DISCOVERY 

The evening robed in autumn hue 
Its royal tints o'er ocean threw. 

A month had passed in doubt and fear : 
That fancy lengthened to a year; 
Faint signs of land came floating past, 
The harbingers of Hope at last, 

Grasses and sea-weed, dark and green, 
Now crest the wave with welcome sheen; 
Strange birds flew past on tireless wing, 
Whose presence there, glad tidings bring — 
Fair doves of promise, hope and rest 
Now dip their wing in ocean's breast. 

Anon the cry of land is heard — 
That thrilling cry the bosom stirred ; 
That cry long seething thro' the brain, 
Now links its hopes with home and Spain : 
Electric, as the lightning's dart, 
It tires the pnlses of the heart ; 
Electric, as the quest it sought, 
It swiftly flies on wings of thought. 

But soon, alas ! that word of cheer 
Shall fall in gloom upon the ear ; 
A dark ning cloud the mirage gave 
That loomed beyond the distant wave ; — 
False, fleeting cloud, thy gloomy brow 
But shatters hope and courage now — 
The. Dead Sea apple of the eye, 
That comes as sin our hearts to try. 



OF AMERICA. 



Dissatisfaction, long suppressed. 

In open murmers was expressed ; 

Their promised dream of wealth and fame, 

The glory of the Spaniard's name, 

Were but the coinage of the brain, 

The broken link of reasons chain. 

Such were the thoughts that filled them now, 
That sent the shadows to each brow, 
That augured ill for him who bore, 
Their trusting hearts from Palos shore ; 
Such were the thoughts their hearts now burn 
To kill their chief, then homeward turn, 
And so avert a nameless grave, 
Unknown, unmarked, "neath ocean's wave. 

All suspecting, — vet secure, 
Within a heart, as brave as pure ; 
The hopeful captain of that band 
Still firmly gave the fixed command, 
Nor questioned the averted eye 
That met his gaze, as they passed by, — 
A mightier Hand was his to save, 
The author of the sky and wave. 

And now a branch with berries red, 
Like Angel's wings o'er Hope outspread — 
The olive branch of peace and love 
Xow crest the wave, as Xoah's dove ; 
The silent messenger that bore 
Glad tidings from a distant shore ! 



10 THE^ DISCOVERY 

Next grasses fresh from river's side 
Whose undulations glint the tide, 
Now drift along on ocean's hreast, 
A grateful offering from the west ; 
A paddle dropped from careless hand 
Next thrills them as magician's wand, 
Inspires their hearts with hope and cheer, 
That now at last the land is near. 

Once more the night, on ehon wing, 
Pier shadows o'er the ocean fling ! 
(Shuts out mercy from the view, 
That lately o'er the waters flew ! 

Once more fair hope is doomed to sleep 
Upon the bosom of the deep ; 
Not so the soul of him, whose eye 
Now scans the gloom of western sky, 
Whose fancy brings the land e'en now 
Beside the dim horizon's brow. 

So sure is he the morning's light 

Will bring the much-sought land in sight ; 

•So sure is he of this surprise, 

He offers him a costly prize, 

Who first with penetrating eye 

Will thro' the gloom the land descry. 

'Tis ten o'clock, when lo ! a light 
Is seen to pierce the vault of night ; 
Its feeble ray comes from the west, 
And glimmers o'er the Ocean's breast; 



OF AMERICA. 11 

In doubt Columbus calls his mate 
To verify the will of fate ; 
His joyous eyes behold it too, 
And then the long expectant crew ; 
It disappears, then gleams once more. 
As tho' it lit some distant shore ; 
Supremely blest, that ray so dear, 
That comes as joy, their hearts to cheer ! 

And now in expectation bright 
They waited for the morning's light ; 
That glorious morning, fair, sublime, 
The fairest offering of Time ; 
Shall roll across the Ocean's face, 
As Mercy from the seat of Grace ! 
That glorious morning bright and clear 
With joyous vision shall appear; 
Shall break o'er lands supremely blest, 
Whose outlines now loom in the west. 

A warning gun is fired, and now, 
The land is seen from Pinta's bow — 
The fastest vessel of the three, 
That sailed across that mighty sea ; 
'Tis two o'clock, the gloomy shore, 
The daring mind would fain explore; 
But caution rules, with sober sway, 
And waits the near approach of day. 

Did ever sun in glory rise, 

With brighter beams to glad the eyes ? 



12 ' THE DISCOVERY 

Did ever heart with wilder joy, 
Mark the radiance of the sky? 

Ah ! no, to them, the Orient ne'er 
Looked half so beautiful and fair. 

That morning dawned with rosy smile, 
On what appeared a beauteous isle, 
Clothed with verdure and with trees — 
As orchards of Hesperides — 
The glorious sight they now behold 
Inflames their hearts with joys untold : 
Enkindles hopes before unfelt, 
That God with them had kindly dealt. 

As thus their wond'ring eyes explore 
Strange creatures hurry to the shore ; 
Primal, as he whose footsteps trod 
The Eden of the Living God ! 
Unconscious they of harm or fear, 
In naked trustiness appear — 
As tho' the sin of malice ne'er 
"Within their breasts had found its lair ; 
As tho' of earth that moment born, 
As was their beauteous land that morn. 

Ah ! would the future years but bring 
Such heavenly trust as off'ring ; 
Ah ! would the future years but show 
The slaughter of the foreign foe ; 
Ah ! would the lesson of the main 
Forever in the heart remain ; 



OF AMERICA. 13 

That confidence alone, and trust. 
Make, all men happy, pure and just ; 
Then, then, indeed, that naked band 
Would never seize the mur'drous brand ; 
"Would never use the scalping knife, 
Or poisoned arrow in the strife. 

And now the hands that would destroy 
Are raised to God, in thanks of joy ; 
A hymn of praise to Him is sung, 
As ever voiced the human tongue ; 
They crowd around their patient chief" 
In all the semblance of grief. 
They kiss his hands, embrace his knees 
And pledge their future lives to please ; 
If he would pardon them that day, 
His wish they ne'er would disobey. 

Columbus robed in scarlet dress, 
With royal banner for address, 
Struck foreign shore with firm foot 
And in its soil that banner root ; 
Then kneeling down in earnest prayer 
As ever wafted on the air ; 
With tears of joy and eyelids dim 
His fervid thanks arose to Him — 
The Mighty God of Seraphim. 

Erect of form his sword he drew, 

Whose virgin blade, no blood e'er knew — 



14 THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

For lie of men sought other fame 

Than bloody deeds to wreathe his name — 

Then, as a god, who rules the main ; 

Who vanquished doubt, distrust, and pain, . 

His much sought prize bequeaths to Spain ; 

Unselfish heart, unselfish gave 

Dominion o'er the land and wave. 

But higher thoughts now upward soar 
He calls the land San Salvador, 
In .praise of Him whose mighty will 
Encouraged Hope to mould his skill ; 
In praise of Him whose blessings gave 
To man dominion o'er the wave. 

And thus the genius and the force 

Of dauntless will's resistless course, 

Inspired of God, directed, blessed, 

Had linked the Orient to the west ; 

Had lit the path till then unknown 

A highway for the Spanish throne — 

The Mecca of the weary soul 

Whose fainting steps would reach the goal ; 

Tired of oppression's goading rod 

Would fain commune with nature's God ; 

Would fain escape from tyranny 

That holds the will in slavery ; 

For such as these, for such as those 

Who'll vet confront their tyrant foes, 



AMERICA. 15 

The rescuer of the mighty wave, 
A refuge and a freedom gave. 

And now, the ocean wide and deep, 
Whose giant billows wildly leap, 
Eternal, boundless, and sublime, 
Shall mark the steady strokes of Time ! 
Shall dart the fiery spark of Thought 
To furthest shore wherever sought ; 
Shall give to man resistless sway, 
Where'er God lio-hts the orb of day ! 



-:o:- 



AMERICA. 

As the condor of Andes, your sons are as brave, 
And free as Mississippi's dark rolling wave ! 
As your white crested mountains, majestic and 

bold, 
Your bright deeds of glory triumphant are 

rolled ! 
Thou fair shrine of Fredom, our song is of thee, 
Diapasoned, sublime, as the waves of the sea! 

How brightly the stars in your firmament shine, 
As the amethyst hid in the depths of the mine! 
How graceful the sweep of your wide, rolling 

plains, 
As the sweet harp of Nature emitting her strains ! 



16 AMERICA. 

Around thee, fair land, the Beneficient Mind 
In his blessings, to nations, left nothing behind. 

Secure as the eyrie, your home is as free 

As the sea gull that dips her white wings in the 

sea ; 
From the Poles to the Tropics your song as 

sublime, 
As the anthems that roll thro' the arehesofTime ! 
From the faint flush of Morning, to Evening's 

deep glow, 
Your glories exultant, in harmony flow ! 

The one fairest jewel of nature is here, 
Extending its light thro' the poles of the year ! 
From the Gulf to the Lakes, from the east to 

the west, 
Its bounties, as Grace, are abundant and blest. 
Its baldric of stars, as the Orbs in the Sky, 
In purity gleam from their banner on high. 

As long as the Morning diffuses her beam; 
As long as the stars thro' the heavens shall 

gleam ; 
So long may thy glories unending and bright 
On the down-trodden nations enkindle their 

light ! 
Till the voice of the people transcendant shall 

rise 
In an anthem of praise to their God in the skies ! 



THE GRAVE OF DE SOTO. 17 



THE GRAVE OF DE SOTO. 

Here, where the Father of Waters, 

Rolls his muddy wave along; 
Have they buried the brave De Soto, 

Forever renowned in song ; 
With no tomb to mark his glory, 

But the swift earessing tide ; 
With no scroll to breathe his story, 

Save its bosom, deep and wide. 

Away, 'neath that mighty river, 

His dirge is forever sung; 
As tho' the fair Guadal quiver 

Had murmured its wail among ; 
Away from that land of glory, 

Her chivalrous son finds rest, 
To mix with the slime of ages, 

That gathers above his breast. 

Sad, sad, is thine end, De Soto, 

Thou chief of the shining lance; 
The spirit and soul of danger, — 

Oh ! thou of the eagle glance ; 
As the waves of that turbid river y 

Thy comrades now must go ; 
To seek for a place of safety 

Wither its waves do flow. 



IS THE GRAVE OF DE SOTO, 

They felled a tree in the forest, 

From its bowels scooped a tomb, 
Where they laid the famed De Soto. 

With no torch to light the gloom : 
But the stars above are watchers 

Of that picture, drear and wild ; 
And their faint, fair light is gleaming; 

On Adventure's fallen child. 

And this is thy grave, De Soto ! 

Captain of Spain's noblesse, 
Companion of brave Pizzaro ; 

Prince of each fair address ; 
Thro 5 the swirl and rush of waters. 

As a bubble that crests its wave : 
To sink in its breast forever, 

To find on its tied a grave ! 

Unmarked is the spot that hides thee, 

As the ocean's glassy breast ; 
And the cpiest, and the strife are over. 

That bent thv footsteps west ; 
But the wave shall break in glory, 

O'er that river, majestic, wide. 
Bright as that hero's story, 

Reflected beneath its tide. 



THANKSGIVING. 10 



THANKSGIVING. 

When the leaves are dead and the gound is bare, 
And the Autumn of Life is no longer fair; 
When the angry blasts unpityjng sweep, 
O'er the bare cold earth and the surging deep ; 
When the weary heart is oppressed and chilled, 
And the cup of care to its rim is filled ; 
When the playful flakes of the snow come down, 
In virgin wreaths, on each field and town ; 
When the crisp cold air, with its vengeful fang, 
Bites into the heart, with envenomed pang; 
When the threshold of Winter in gloom appears, 
And the days grow short, as the fading years; 
There comes a day, 'mid the hurrying throng, 
That breaks on the heart with its joy and song. 

There sits no gloom on this glorious day, 
For the feast is spread and the heart is gay ; 
For the joys of Life, with their blessings stored, 
Light up each cot and each smiling board. 
From the shores of Maine, with its icy eaves, 
To the Tropic Gulf, with its balmy waves; 
From the Land of Gold, with its sunny skies, 
To the glowing East, does the anthem rise; 
Of boundless thanks to the God whose Light 
And Mercy break, on our souls to-night. 

And yet there are hearts who would gladly bring 
Their burden of praise to this Mighty King; 



20 THANKSGIVING. 

Would lengthen the day with their song and 

cheer, 
To welcome this guest of the changing year ; 
But cruel Oppression, begotten of Greed, 
Would dare the blessings of God impede ; 
Would snatch from the Toiler the joy and cheer, 
That brighten his path thro' each weary year ; 
Would gather his gloom o'er this fair, fair land, 
So bounteously blessed by the Master's hand ; 
Would sever the ties that have bound him here, 
The Thanksgiving Hymn of the dying year. 

On this festal day when a nation's voice 
On the wings of Prayer, our hearts rejoice ; 
We call on the Father, supreme above, 
The author of -Life, of Light and Love, 
To banish the strife and the feud that shroud, 
This beautiful land, as an inky cloud ; 
To roll the deep curtain of gloom away, 
On the nation's feast — Thanksgiving; Da v. 



ANDERSONVILLE. ^1 



ANDERSONVILLE. 



LINES SUGGESTED AT SEEING o'DEA'S GREAT PICTURE. 



Here, 'mid the groupings of the artist's mind, 
My theme of horror and of woe I hud; 
Himself an actor in each fearful scene, 
From memory drawn, thro' sleepless years be- 
tween. 
Unutterable thought, how swift thy flight ! 
On memory's wing thro' shadows black as night ; 
How will it brood ? How feed the pencil's flow 
That would portray each shifting scene of woe ? 
But weak the pencil that would bind the thought 
Of demon hate ! on man thus foully wrought. 

Horror of horrors ! crowding thick and fast, 
As seething waves, by angry tempest lashed— 
Squalor supreme ! unutterable woe ! 
Revenge accursed ! — of man the direful foe- 
Grim death unpitied '.—Hunger's pangs a jeer !— 
Nature reversed in all her terrors here ; 
Despair and death ! in shapes to man unknown, 
Look grimly on and laugh at mortal groan ; 
Hope fled the scene of Havoc and of strife, 
Where Nature battles for each wretch's life ; 
Heaven appalled at man's unhallowed crime !— 
The darkest stain that blurs the face of Time ! 



22 ANDERSONVILLE. 

What wretch is he falls prostrate on the brink. 
Of that foul stream,whose waters he would drink. 
Pierced with a bullet from yon rifle bore, 
Which sends his spirit to a brighter shore '( 
Y gallant soldier lie, as brave as true. 
As ever blade for injured country drew; 
lie dies uncrowned beside that fetid stream, 
The gaunt, pale hero of bright glory's dream. 
His only crime ! — -just heaven record the same. 
And brand the coward with eternal shame, — 
The strife of nature, — as a thing divine 
Would place the hand beneath historic line ! 
To till his ean from that foul, fetid stream, 
Whose putrid waters hid the morning beam ! 
The Dead Line of that hell ! Oh ! who ean tell 
I low many hearts beside its barrier fell ? 

From out the cloud, Oh ! Pity strain thine eye, 
What fearful cart is that now passing by? 
Borne along on rumbling wheels of gloom, 
To bear its burden to the monster tomb ; 
Onward it rolls its ghastly load of death, 
To lie forever 'neath the grass beneath, 
Oh ! sweet release from misery and gloom, 
To rest the body in the glutted tomb ; 
Far better death in all its ghastly throes, 
Than such a life, of sufferings and woes. 
Inhuman man, lias pity fled the earth, 
That reeks beneath the creatures of its birth ; 



ANDERSONVILLE. 23 

Have honor, shame, the glory of your kind 
Left not a trace of soldier's heart behind? 

Thrice happy he to pain and sorrow dead 
Who sees the future thro 1 the past outspread. 
In one sweet vision, bright with joy and love 
That soon shall break in glory from above. 
Your suff'rings now will stand before you there. 
As tho' your life had been continued prayer; 
Yes, gaze your la3t on each familiar face 
Ere yon are called before the Throne of Grace : 
Thy name, thy deeds, unwept, unhonored, lie 
Beneath the glories of the Southern sky. 

The yawning gulf of misery and pain, 
Where Hunger revelled o'er the myriads slain: 
Where loathsome sores, and fevers ever gave, 
Unstinted victims to the charnal grave ! 
Where Freedom's dream brought terrors to the 

heart, 
And sinking Nature sped her lightning dart ! 
Where man called dewn a curse upon his kind 
As tierce and deadly as the Desert wind ! 

The scene is changed where Fifteen Thousand 

lives 
Passed through grim death, thro' tortures and 

thro' gyves ; 
The scene is changed, which saw their bodies 

strewn 
Tn festering heaps, as leaves in Autumn blown: 



24 A1NTDERS0NVILLE. 

Where cruel hound, to instinct's laws accurst; 
Sunk his red fangs, in flesh of him that hurst 
From that foul hell, — remembered but in name, 
Of man the horror and of earth the shame ! 
A brighter dawn now breaks thro' Southern 

skies, 
And. deeds of mercy from her breast arise ; 
The Olive branch o'er her fair homes is spread, 
And sorrow's tear o'er Blue and Gray is shed. 
The graphic picture, fresh from artist mind, 
Will in her breast the deepest anguish find ; 
And such a picture, bold beyond compare, 
Whose range of thought, the heights of art 

would dare, 
Alike an honor to the coat he wore, 
As the Fair Land that sent him from her shore 

But the survivors of that fearful keep, 

Whose terrors haunt them in their hours of 

sleep ! 
How have they fared? Has grateful country 

shed 
Her fruitful laurels on each martyr's head ? 
Ah, no ! alas ! the sacrifice they made, 
For Freedom's cause, can never be repaid; 
The wasted form the broken spirit bore 
Thro' suff'rings dire, no country could restore, 
But grateful hearts shall yet inscribe to Fame, 
The yielding marble, rich with storied name, 



THE BARTIIOLDI STATUE. 25 

Shall mark the spot where Freedom's hosts lie 

dead 
With Nature's carpet o'er their graves out- 
spread; 
Will raise the marble, dim with sorrow's tear, 
To those whose famished forms were buried 

here ; 
Shall seek some legend dear to Liberty, 
As tho 5 they fell at famed Thermopylae ! 
Shall rouse the nation to the soldier's claim, 
And heap distinction on each honored name ; 
Shall bend the heart to grateful praise and song, 
That thro' the years shall roll its praise along. 
Historic page shall yet, in words of fire, 
Glow where its lines now faintingly expire; 
Till this Great Land, as proudful as its name, 
Shall crown the soldier with the wreath of fame. 



THE BARTIIOLDI STATUE. 

Fair land of Freedom — beauteous France ! 

Plow prized the gift thy genius gave ; 
How bright its glorious outlines dance 

Across the glinting, sunny wave 
That bears our burdened hearts to thee, — 
Thou shrine of Love and Liberty ! 



26 THE BARTHOLIN STATUE. 

Hail ! glorious land of Lafayette, 
Our greetings as of yore, are thine; 

Whose foot on Freedom's soil was set; 
Whose arm in Freedom's cause divine. 

Uplifted; smote the English host, 

Of countless wrongs, the pride and boast. 

Across the mighty ocean's span. 

Resplendent as the morning's beam : 

How swittlv speeds the thought of man, 
As wings of Hope, or Lightning's gleam,- 

Three thousand miles of flashing wire 

Convey our thoughts in words of fire. 

Here, where the surging waters roll 
Their tireless wave, forever free, 

Be thou the glory and the soul 
Of this great land of liberty ; 

Thro' cloud and sunshine, gloom and cheer. 

The Janus of the " changing year." 

Sublime Bartholdi — Genius ne'er 
Arose to grander, loftier height ; 

Art ne'er conceived a thought more fair — 
Marvel of beauty and delight. 

Land of the Starry Banner blue,' 

This glorious work was all for you. 

Long may the homeless exile find 
Beneath thy torch surcharge of pain ; 

Long may the hands that tyrants bind 
In slavery, cast off their chain. 

May thy fair light of Liberty 

Forever shine o'er hearts set free. 



CHARLESTON. "27 



CHARLESTON. 

A few short hours ere the evening - sun 

Had sunk in glory o'er Charleston; 

Had bathed the Ashley and Cooper streams 

In the fading light of his glorious beams; 

Had lit the jasmine, magnolia trees, 

Whose odorous breath perfumed the breeze; 

Had gathered his glorious light away, 

From fort and river; from town and bay, 

Leaving behind a languid delight 

To soften the gloom of that August night, 

Historic Charleston, sunk to rest ! 
As calm as a babe on its mother's breast; 
The quiet of natue reigned around, 
A city of love and joy profound. 
But the Xight was there with her solemn train, 
Mother of Sorrow, of Sin and Pain; 
A night of horrors, whose voice shall roll, 
Its ghastly shriek o'er the troubled soul ; 
Shall blanch the cheek of the stout and brave, 
And whirl the heart on its surging wave ; 
A night of horrors whose voice shall ring- 
To farthest bounds of her ebon wing. 

A fearful tremor now shakes the earth, 
As tho' she gave to some monster birth ; 
Louder and louder its echoes roll ! 
Like the voice of God to the sinful soul ! 



28 CHARLESTON". 

Onward, still onward, its surges sweep 
As the giant billows that lash the deep ! 

Alas, fair city of strife and death ! 
Thine enemy now lies far beneath ; 
And yet not thine, but that Nature's law 
That moulds the wish, which our senses draw: 
That reckless Nature, what cares she now 
For the pallid cheek or the fearful brow ! 
Havoc and Chaos are her's to bear ! 
From the depths of Earth's sulphureous lair ! 
Presage of doom, at some distant day, 
That this fair, fair Globe shall pass away. 

Alas, fair city beside the wave ! 
Ruin has dug thee another grave ; 
A ruin greater, mightier far 
Than the puny strife — the scourge of war — 
Driven thy children to cares allied, 
To seek the shelter their homes denied, 
Alas how fearful that night of gloom, 
When the home of love becomes its tomb ! 
When the shriek of terror, and wild despair, 
Mingle their tones with the poisoned air ! 
When death looks ghastly, and grim beneath, 
The trembling earth, where his terrors seethe. 

Yonder we see in the open air 
The White and the Black unite in pray'r, 
The fearful picture of death and woe, 
Of ruin around and dread below ; 



DECORATION DAY. 29 

The stifled cry, the deep groan of pain ; 
The surging earth in her labored strain ; 
The toppling mansion, the home of pride, 
Now breaks as bubble upon the tide ; 
Nature convulsed in her fearful throes 
Like maddened monster, confronts her foes'! 

Awake, dread souls, to that aweful hour, 
When an angry God reveals His power; 
Awake to the promptings of conscience now, 
"With an earnest soul and a peaceful brow, 
IFor He who lashes its heaving wave 
Is a mighty God with a will to save ! 
Awake, dread souls, for the morning's sun 
.Shall break in glory o'er Charleston. 
Already her prayer, like Rachel's cry, 
Is heard bj T the Ruler of earth and sky.. 



DECORATION DAY. 

•Comrades of the bloody fray — ! 

Companions of the toilsome march, 
We come in love this bright May day, 

Beneath the weeping willow's arch, 
To strew your graves with Earth's fair gems, 
Your heroic deeds our songs and hymns J 



30 DECORATION DAY. 

We care not what your creed or race; 

We care not how you fought or bled, 
Our loving hands your graves shall grace 

With spring's fair offerings o'er them spread;- 
The holiest task that duty craves, 
Is when we deck our brothers' graves. 

Companions of the Charge and Fire! 

Of Devastation and of Death ! 
We come to-day as Love's desire, 

To honor those who sleep beneath ; 
We come to them whose courage bore 
Our rented flag thro' fields of gore ; 
We come the remnant of that wave 

That swept rebellion from our land ; 
We come to deck each honored grave — 

To grasp in thought each sleeper's hand ; 
We come as tho' our own should be 
The next green grave of memory. 

Our monument to worth is here,— 

Within our breasts it brightly gleams, — 
A few sweet buds as memory's tear, 

Our promised hopes, our fancied dreams ; 
We fondly hoped to-day would see 
A column raised to fame and thee ; 
But no, the grasping, grinding few, 

Who hold this land in bondage dire 
Pay little heed to Gray or Blue, — 

'Tis Mammon's worship feeds their tire ! 



DECORATION DAY. 31 

Alas ! that Honor's trust should claim 
From such as these, the shaft of Fame. 

Ask him whose empty sleeve once bore, 

The trusted sword of of Liberty : 
Whose polished brow Hyperion wore 

The laurel wreath of victory ! 
For country then his blood was shed — 
To Freedom's cause his life was wed ; 
Ask him to-day with wasted frame — 

"With shattered nerves and broken health, 
Where lies the honor and the fame 

Among the pampered sons of wealth. 
The sunken eye and wan pale cheek 
Give back the answer we would seek. 

Ask yonder tattered, torn Hag, 

With pale dim stars and hided blue, 
Who bore it o'er each mountain crag 

Thro' blood and fire, with courage true. 
Thro' fields of dead, where carnage swept ! 
Where Glory's sons distorted slept ! 
Where death and havoc reigned supreme — 

Where war's red strife in terror tore ! 
Where shot and shell mid lurid gleam, 

Sped thro' the air as vultures soar, 
Ask this, and tell me why this spot 
Should by the living be forgot? 



32 DEFEAT OF THE GALATEA. 



DEFEAT OF THE GALATEA. 

How trimly sailed the Galatea, 
Over the broad Atlantic Sea-ah, 

Her crew were Henglishmen ; 
Sturdy Britons, bold and brave 
As ever crossed the briny wave; — 

So thought Lieutenant Enn. 

And when she sighted Sandy Hook, 
Defiantly her banner shook, 

For Hengland's Jack, you know, 
Has not its peer upon the wave; 
Its triple cross defiant brave, 

Is terror to the foe. 

Already in their minds they see-ah, 
Their gallant craft, the Galatea, 

Outstrip the May-flower's speed. 
The fancied victory of their craft, 
So neatly trimmed both fore and aft, 

Shows Hengland in the lead. 

But fate decreed that Briton's boast, 
For once should drink an empty toast; — 

Should drown defeat in wine ; 
Should curse old Neptune and his shell, 
And send them both to Pluto's ell, 

Beneath the churning brine ! 



DEFEAT OF THE THISTLE. 33 

Should find them on that fatal day, 
Plowing the foamy crested spray: 

That Mayflower left behind; 
Their manly breasts and gloomy brow, 
As sullen as their vessels prow, 

That sulks before the wind. 

But so it was, so will it be-ah, 
That any other Galatea, 

They bring to Yankee shore ; 
Shall meet the fate her consort met, 
Of England's skill, the pride and pet, 

Their honored trust no more. 



-:o:- 



DEFEAT OF THE THISTLE. 

Lightly, they're speeding over the wave, 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 
The crews of the twain are gallant and brave, 

The Thistle and Volunteer! 
The Red Cross of England claims one of the two, 
The other the Stars, in their baldric of blue, 
And both to their colors, no doubt, will prove 
true, 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 



34 DEFEAT OF THE THISTLE. 

Deftly, their pinions are spread to the breeze. 

The Thistle and Volunteer, 
As albatros poising o'er southern seas, 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 
Hurrah ! for the start and the graceful careen : 
Hurrah ! for the glory and honor between ; 
Hurrah ! for the pennant to which our hearts 
lean, 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 

Sportive, they scatter the silvery spray ! 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 
Bright are its glints o'er the beautiful bay, 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 
Exultant they glide o'er the billowy crest, 
The pride of a nation is pinned to each breast : 
By the white feathered waves, are their bosoms 
earessed, 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 

Hurrah ! the proud Scotchman is left on the lee, 
The Thistle and Volunteer. 

While gaily our own bonnie craft breasts the 
sea, 

The Thistle and Volunteer. 

Blow ! breezes blow ! fill her sails with delight, 

A beaker of gold will be pledged her to-night ! 

As sparkling and clean as her pinions of light, 
Invincible Volunteer. 



A PICTURE OF LIFE. 35 



A PICTURE OF LIFE. 

Ah ! ruthless blast of November, 

Why scatter my foliage so 
Whose ripened and mellow beauty 

Gave autumn his saffron glow ? 
Why darken the face of Nature, 

That yesterday looked so fair 
To whirl my golden treasure, 

Like chaff, on the pitiless air ? 

How fondly I clung to my darlings, 

Now pressed 'neatli unpitying tread '. 
How fair were the hopes I cherished, 

When their emerald sheen had fled ; 
And the orient blush of the morning 

Had spread its beautiful shades, 
Leaving its amber tintings 

To brighten the forest glades. 

1 have seen the joy-laden flowers 

Now bloom, and then wither away ; 
Fair as the hues of the rainbow — 

The light of one fleeting day ; 
And I asked myself in the greenwood, 

If the beautiful tint I wore, 
Would die the death of the flowers, 

When the autumn of life was o'er. 



36 ADDRESS TO THE SEA. 

Spring, with her glowing- summer, 

Brings brown-haired autumn along; 
When the green of the leaf has vanished, 

And the robin has ceased his song ; 
When the portals of death are Hearing, 

As the winter of life's decay, 
And the souls of the just speed upward, 

To the light of an endless day. 

From life to death what transitions — 

What changes doth come and go ! 
From the perfumed robe of the summer 

To the winter's mantle of snow ; 
From the Spring, with her tiny blossoms, 

To the autumn of russet sear, 
The changes of life roll onward, 

As the summons of death draws near. 



-:o:- 



ADDRESS TO THE SEA. 

Thou lone, sad, tireless sea, I'd fain commune 
with thee ; 

With thy vastness and thy might ; with thy blue 
waves crested white, 

With thy surge's echoing roar, with the peb- 
bles on thy shore ; 

Changed from Titan boulders through the years. 



ADDRESS TO THE SEA. 37 

I fain would ask thy wave for the hero's briny 

grave ; 
Where his valor and his quest, beneath thy 

depths found rest ; 
Where beauty's brow is hid, 'neath thy coral 

beds amid; 
With pearly gems of ocean in her hair. 

Thou restless, sleepless sea, tell your wealth 

to me ; 
That 'neath thy waters rest, through ages long 

caressed ;*- 
The shining golden gem, the priceless diadem, 
That kings have fought for, buried there. 

Where lies the princely ship, who ventured to 

equip 
Her tall and gallant masts against the winter's 

blasts ; 
Down-hidden in thy breast, thro' years of gloom 

to rest; 
There to rot and crumble 'mid thy eaves ! 

Where are the hopes she bore, to reach some 

foreign shore ; 
The tender heart of love, that does our natures 

prove ; 
The zeal for God and kind, gone down before 

the wind, 
There to rest till Gabriel's blast is heard ! 



38 THE PRESS. 

Thou false and treacherous sea, tho T ever true 

to me. 
There 's dread around thee cast when thy waves 

are fiercely lashed 
To maddening foam and spray, in Cyclopean 

play ! 
Or tempest cloud of heaven looming- o'er. 

The tumult and the roar that break upon thy 

shore, 
The thunder's crashing sound that shakes the 

earth around, 
The tempest's fearful sweep, whose terrors ridge 

the deep, 
Disturb the tranquil beauty of thy breast ! 



-:o:- 



THE PRESS. 

Thou messenger of good or ill, 
Omniscient as the Argive Jove; 

How great thy power to mould the will 
Of nations and their deeds control. 

There are no words that can express 

The mighty lever of the Press. 



THE PRESS. 



30 



There is no safety to be bought 
By him who once incurs thy hate, 

Thou lexicon of human thought, 
Unbending as the will of Fate. 

There is no force that can repress 

The lightning vengeance of the Press. 

The watchful Argus of the hour, 

The mint of thought, superb and bright. 

Earth's rulers quail beneath thy power 
As darkness does before the light, 

The tyrant may the weak oppress, 

But stern rebuke comes from the Press. 

The Mercury that bears the light, 

Of winged thought to myriad homes ; 

That brings the deeds of men to sight, 

Where'er their wandering footsteps roam. 

The power of man can ne'er suppress 

The teachings of an honest Press. 

The impure streams that often flow, 
From minds corrupt into thy wave ; 

The noisome winds that often blow, 
Both find in thee, oblivion's grave ; 

For purity and truth impress 

Themselves on freedom of the Press. 

The venal Press — The purchased scribe, 
That tyrants use to practice wrong, 

Are like some looting, wandering tribe 
That bring distrust where'er they throng; 



40 MORNING. 

But their vile teachings but compress 
A narrow space in Freedom's Press. 

May honor crown, with sweetest bays, 
The brows of those who would impart. 

To man his meed of honest praise, 
For purity of mind and heart. 

May earnest effort ne'er depress 

The honest teachings of the Press. 



MORNING. 



The glitt'ring stars sank in the west — 
The east awoke a purple stream — 

The Zenith bent its fair blue crest 
To meet the rising crimson beam 

Of Moraine- ! 



The jeweled flowers kissed its rays; 

The stream reflected back its hue ; 
The song of bird broke forth in praise ! 

And earth's fair robe was wet with dew 
Of Morning; ! 



MORNING. 41 

Empurpled bill, clear stretching lake, 
Poured out their smiles to greet the sun ! 

Whose golden beams, transcendant break 
O'er nature's woof, the glories spun 

Of Morning! 

Throughout the blue, where countless orbs 
In rhythmic measure circle bright ! 

"Where pulse of heaven, ecstatic throbs. 
At song of angel robed in light 

Of Morning ! 

From out this circling world of fire, 

Whose splendors shroud the sun's bright 
beam ! 
The soul of man, as angel choir, 
Descends to earth, a joy supreme 

Of Morning ! 

The hand of God directs the whole, 
Transcends the glories and the bliss 

Of nature's laws — their life and soul — 
Thro' myriad worlds more fair than this, 
The Morning ! 



42 DECEMBER. 



DECEMBER. 



Thou gray-haired stepping-stone of Time ; 

Whose robe of crystal gleams, 
As pure as vestal of the sun. 

O'er rivers, brooks, and streams ; 
The Dog Star blazing o'er your path, 

"With fierce, yet steady glow ; 
jSTow climbs the brow of heaven's arch, 

In glory from below. 

Orion's glittering Club and Belt, 

Erst while lit up the dome ; 
Pursuing Taurus in his flight, 

Thro' God's mysterious home ; 
Far, far away, the Pleiades, — 

Fair Daughter's of the Blue, 
Celestial, as the Light of God, 

Their wondrous course pursue. 

Thou dear Old Father of the mouths, 

Thy night, as death, is long; 
Yet dost thou cheer its lengthened gloom. 

With mirth, and joy, and song ; 
Within thy breast a jewel 's hid, 

That breaks in beams of light, 
Refulgent as the orb of day: — 

The world's fair Chirstmas night. 



TO. A SEA SHELL. 43 

Thou dear, old, kind, December month, 

'No flatterer art thou ; 
For the wreath of dissolution, 

As jewels press your brow ; 
The death thy life foreshadows, 

Is ever round thee seen, — 
A glory o'er each field and hedge 

So lately robed in green. 

The fair, bright hues of Autumn, 

As beams of light are fled; 
And trees that bore their glories, 

Are cheerless, bare, and dead; 
The leaves that crimsoned in the glade 

Are hid beneath the snow, 
To rot and crumble into dust 

That feed fresh life below. 



-:o: 



TO A SEA SHELL. 

Who painted thy marvelous tints, fair shell, 

Away 'lieath the sleepless sea? 
Whose lingers penciled thy pink cheeks' swell ? 

tell us the mystery. 

Whence comes that croon, as a drowsy hush, 

Or labored song of the bee? 
Dost murmur the tumult, and roar, and rush 

Of the wild, impetuous sea? 



44 TO A SEA SHELL. 

Dost sigh for thy home on those coral beds, 
That glow 'neath the swelling wave, 

Whose tin tings proclaim and whose beauty 
sheds 
A glory that earth ne'er gave V 

Dost mourn the anemone's blushing hue, 

That circled around your home, 
A fringe of glorv beneath the blue, — 

The glass of heaven's fair dome '( 

Who polished thy beautiful cheeks, 0, shell 

With wondrous tints so fair? 
Who fashioned thine armor beneath the swell 

Of the boundless ocean there ? 

Who, but the Artist whose mighty skill 

Is found in the vasty deep ; 
Whose Hand divine, and whose mighty will, 

Harmonious beauties keep. 

As well 'neath the turbulent, surging sea, 

As the worlds that gem the sky ; 
As well in the grasses that deck the lea, 

As the bird that soars on high ; 

As well in the myriad shapes that live 

On tho coral's floating spray: 
As in the flowers, whose colors give 

A joy to the summer's day. 



SHADOWS AND LIGHT. 45 

For the hand of the Master — supremely blest — 
Is seen thro' the wondrous whole; 

From the depths beneath, to Empyrean's crest: 
The glory and the soul. 



-:o:- 



SIIADOWS AKD LIGHT. 

< )ver the river, once so fair, 

My wond'ring eyes are set, 
To see the trees look cold and bare 

Where erst earth's glories met ; 
The greenwood shade, where song of bird 
In joyous notes the bosom stirred, 
Alas ! by me no more is heard, — 

So runs the heart's regret. 

Where are the many beauties gone, 
That gleamed beneath the sun ? 

Where are the joys that thro' them shone, 
When summer's tints were spun ? 

They go to crown another year 

With leaf as green, and song as cheer; 

With thought as fair, and hope as dear, 
As rhvthm e'er begun. 



46 SHADOWS AND LIGHT. 

Tlie leaves that grew on yonder trees, 

Oh ! whither are they tied, 
Whose glories kissed October's breeze 

In wanton sport o'erhead ? 
They lie beneath December's snow. 
Breathing new life to earth below; 
Whose green from Death doth ever flow — 

A wondrous joy outspread ! 

Whence comes the snow, so pure, so fair, 

So pulseless and so cold ? 
Whence comes the bitter, biting air 

That doth the crystals mould ? 
They come to vest the year in gloom ; 
They come as Death, to things that bloom : 
They come the heralds of the Tomb, 

When Autumn spills his gold. 

So fade the charms that Nature yields, 

So wither and decay ; 
To-day a joy that decks the fields 

With tints of beauteous May ; 
To-morrow, shadows, drear and lone, 
Which darken scenes where sunbeams shone, 
Until God's mercy rolls the stone 

Of gloom and death away. 

Thus youth brings age and winter's snows, 

Unerring as the years ; 
Thus fall of leaf brings summer's rose 

Thro' showers of April tears; 



GOD IS LIGHT. 47 

Thus life must pass from death to life, 
Thro' beams of sunshine, cloud and strife, 
Till heaven is gained with glories rife. 
And God's fair light appears. 



-:o:- 



GOD IS LIGHT. 

God is light — all Nature cries ! 

From Ocean's depths, to farthest star ; 
From out His fair celestial skies, 

His beams of glory shoot afar. 

God is Light ! The spheres that roll 

Thro' boundless fields of space proclaim ! 

Their guidance, as the human soul, 

On Him, who robes their orbs in flame. 

God is Light ! The flashing thought 
Emerges from the quickened mind ! 

Thro' myriad worlds its source is sought ; 
Leaving time and space behind. 

God is Light ! The red, round sun 

Is but a taper in His hand, 
Whose fiery beams in heaven were spun 

Ere man received his first command. 



48 TO A CAGED EAGLE. 

God is Light. The flowers that bloom, 
Await the opening beams of morn, 

Whose beauteous tints and sweet perfume, 
The dewy brow of earth adorn. 

The sable cloak of Night but hides 
This flood of glory from our gaze, 

That on the wing of morning glides 

Thro' heaven's blue arch, a living hi aze. 

God is Light, and Light is Love 

And Life and Hope and joy supreme, 

O'er earth beneath or sphere above, 
It's splendors from Empyrian beam ! 



TO A CAGED EAGLE. 

Bird of the dizzy steep, 

Where the swift chamois leap ! 
Cloud-capped thy home neath the avalanche's 
brow ; 

Fearless, and bold, and free ; 

Fierce bird of liberty ! 
Narrow the space for thine ample wing now ! 



TO A CAGED EAGLE. 4!) 

Bird of the blue expanse! 

Where the bright sunbeams dance ! 
Eager thy glance on the red rounded sun ; 

Scream thy wild grief and pain ! 

Over thy lost domain ! 
Scream for the freedom thy brave pinions won ! 

Lord of the mountain height, 

Glinting its crystals bright! 
Fallen thy flight, from God's clear sunny dome ! 

Down in this prison cage! 

Freedom and light the gauge ! 
Down from the splendors, that streamed o'er 
thy home ! ' 

Bird of the tireless wing! 

Where the wild waters fling ! 
Their mad rushing foam in the chasm beneath ! 

Down from thine eyrie high! 

Down from sublimity ! 
Down in this prison of madness and death ! 

Alan who would dare be free, 

Bars thee from liberty! 
Flings thy wild wing in this foul narrow cage ! 

Whilst the blue sky and air, 

Beckon thy pinions there ! 
Tantalus beckons thy tierce swelling; rage! 



50 THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. 

Many a heart as brave, 

Freedom and light would crave ; 
Flung: in the dungeon of serfdom and gloom ! 

Dies for the cause of Iiight ! 

Buried in gloom of night ! 
Dies for the glory, that ends in the tomb ! 



THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. 

Where lurk your terrors ! Oh ! subtle Death ? 

Why fateful to life and bloom ? 
Whence comes the chill of your icy breath ? 

Where gather your shadowy gloom ? 
Amid the pleasures of life your dart 

Is sped with a thrill of woe ! 
And the rosy currents that wreathe the heart, 

'Neath your glances cease to flow. 

You have no pity for infant smiles. 

For beauty's all classic grace ; 
For the brave stout heart, or angel wiles 

Of the maiden's radiant face. 
O'er bud, and blossom, and sear alike, 

Your chill, cold breath is blown ; 
Whilst the swiftest arrows you aim but strike. 

Where the seed is fairest sown ! 



THE SEASONS. 51 

How many who build their hopes in life, 

When its sun soars brave and high ; 
E'er see the shadows that herald strife, 

Thro' its bright alluring sky ; 
The morning breaks with her rosy blush — 

Enrobing the blue immense ; 
The evening gathers its dying hush, 

To the throne of Omnipotence ! 

We count the years as the hopes they bring, 

Unmindful of Death's decree ; 
Their fairest glories our hearts would sing, 

Untrammeled, and pure and free ! 
But the doom that heaven has set for all, 

Its shadows fling o'er our way ! 
As the broken heart, or funeral pall, 

That shadows life's fleeting day ! 



-:o:- 



THE SEASON'S. 

Which take we first, when all are fair, 

Supernal and divine ? 
Which take we first, when heavenly care 

Proportioned thro' them shine? 
The dawn of life, its flush and bloom, 

Its glory and decay, 
" Quaternal spring from Nature's womb— 

Transcendant as her day ! 



R9 



THE SEASONS. 

Symbolical of life is Spring, 

Sweet nursling of the year, 
Whose tiny buds to nature sing, 

Their balmy song* of cheer, 
The bare cold sod beneath her care ; 

Unrolls its robe of green ; 
Whilst song of bird, as soothing prayer, 

Entrancing thrills between. 

The clothed earth perfection takes, 

When summer pours her beam, 
And song of bird the grove awakes. 

In trills that joyous stream. 
Around, above, where'er we gaze, 

God's wondrous skill is found. 
Exultant as our song of praise 

For blessings so profound ! 

The tints that paint the daisy's rim, 

That flush the crimson rose. 
As morning's beam are sent bv Him, 

As fair as sunset's close ; 
The balmy moisture of the air, 

That bathes their sweet perfume, 
In tiny globules gathers there 

Thro' night's deep curtained gloom ! 

The smiling earth with treasures stored. 
Awaits the scythe and spade. 

Invites the toiler's hand to hoard, 
The cheer too long delayed ; 



THE SEASONS. 53 

The ripened fields of yellow grain, 

As streams of sunshine flow ; 
Await the sickle's crescent strain, 

To lay their glories low. 

Her beauteous life awaits its close, 

With many a thrill divine ; 
That thro' the forest brightly glows. 

As onyx in the mine ; 
As life well spent her glories stream, — 

A marvel of delight ; 
But beauty fled, her fading beam, 

Eternal sinks in night ! 

The winter now, in gloom appears, 

With chaste, cold robe of white ; 
His icy car rolls thro' the years, 

On sable clouds of night; 
Before his pulseless chill embrace 

The tints of autumn die, 
And crystals, pure as angel's face, 

Above its beauty lie. 

The tomb of -Nature ! cold and gray, 

And pitiless and drear, 
Comes as the time that bears away 

Earth's sorrows and her tear, 
Embalms and purifies the sod, 

For glories yet unborn, 
Then upward speeding to his God, 

Is lost in beam of morn. 



TO A ROBIX. 



TO A IiOBIX. 



Where hast thou been, thou merry tramp? 

From whence thy visit now ? 
Where did'st thou thro' the winter cam}), 

Safe perched upon some bough ? 
We missed thy tuneful, cheery note, — 

Glad messenger of spring, 
That rippled from your russet throat, — 

A joyous offering. 

Thou art as saucy as of yore, 

As perky and as neat, 
As when you trolled your last year's store 

Of songs surpassing sweet ; 
Xo prima donna e'er arrived, 

With half such uppish airs ; 
As thou, whose summer hast survived 

The winter of our cares. 

What bird sung sweeter notes than thine, 

Within the green wood shade ? — 
You will not tell — then I '11 divine 

You lost your minstrel trade ; 
You seek the beauty of our dells, 

Our laughing brooks and rills ; 
And as of old in fits and spells 

Pour forth your lvrie trills. 



TO A ROBIN. bi) 

I love to watch your saucy stare, — 

Inquisitive and keen ; 
I love to watch your jaunty air 

When tripping o'er the green ; 
There is a summer in your heart, — 

A spring-time in your hound, 
That make me wish we shall not part 

When autumn comes around. 

Unerring wing, instinctive law, 

To Nature ever true ; 
Our cooler shades your pinions draw, 

To iiow'rs of fairer hue ; 
Untired of quest, thy flight has sought. 

The grove wherein thy nest, 
By artist bill last year was wrought, — 

By loving mate caressed. 

The primrose welcomes thee once more. 

With odor fresh and sweet ; 
The modest lily as of yore, 

Would fain your presence greet; 
The grass in greenest vesture clad, 

Shall hail thine advent here ; 
The violet shall make thee glad — 

Fair spectrum of the year. 

But you will leave us when the bloom 

Of summer's tints is fled, 
And autumn's shades of death and gloom 

Their dying colors spread; 



56 music. 

Thy beauteous wing, as pleasure's dream, 
Shall bear thy song of cheer, 

To fairer rill and clearer stream, 
Than you have suns' to here ! 



-:o:- 



MUSIC. 

Breaking in symphony, 

Heaven's sweet harmony ; 
Chasing life's gloom and its shadows of care : 

Fair as the morning's blush ! 

Soft as the evening's hush ! 
Fair as the sunbeam that gleams thro 1 our prayer ! 

Rapture and joy supreme ! 

Nature's enchanting dream ! 
Unison blending in sweet notes of song; 

Proudly your trills and swells ! 

Break as magician's spells ! 
Leading the senses as captives along! 

Lavish your tenderness ! 

Joy of earth's wilderness ! 
Charming the wayward, and binding the free : 

Healer of broken hearts ! 

Speeder of magic darts ! 
Queen of the soul you are heaven to me ! 



THE RIVER SET FREE. 57 



THE RIVER SET FREE. 

Hurrah ! for freedom ; I bear my chains, 
As slaves on my breast, to the welcome sea ; 

By my crystal edges their glint remains, 
To melt 'neath the sun, when I am tree. 

I 11 bear them along- in my mad career, 
Shattered and broken, in wild dismay; 

I'll bear them along with their chill and tear, 
To the wide, wide sea, or the sheltered bay. 

Too long have I lain supine and cold 

Beneath their shadows, thro' winter's gloom ; 

But nature aroused is brave and bold, 

And her smile is a tear for things that 
bloom ! 

Crunched and crushed in my wild, mad race, 
Tnpitying swept from their crystal home; 

As glass I shatter their beauteous face, 
Whither my waters in madness foam. 

The river, as man, would dare be free, 
As eagle soaring o'er dizzy steep; 

Would roll its waters where liberty 

Is found in the billows that lash the deep. 



58 THE SHIPWRECK. 

On, where my banks are seared and bare, 
I fly past their ghastly cold embrace ; 

On, past the haunts and the homes of care, 
I gather fresh strength for the tireless race 

On, on, past the engine's labored strain, 
Dragging its weary load along; 

On free, swift pinions I seek the main, 
To join in the surges' unceasing song. 



THE SHIPWRECK. 

The ship went down in that lonely sea, 

Of helm and sails bereft : 
Thro' the frothing surge — tumultuously — 

Her stately masts were cleft; 
Borne along on the swirling waves 

That ridged the angry deep; 
To rest thro' the years 'mid ocean eaves : 

Where hippa and star-fish creep. 

In that yawning gulf what love went down, 
What hopes, what joys, what pain ; 

The maiden's dream — her heart's fair crown- 
Now swallowed beneath the main : 

The far off vision of home and bliss — 
The sailor's love and pride — 

Bunk in the whirl, and roar, and hiss. 
Of that dark, unpitying tide! 



THE SHIPWRECK. 59 

Ambition's hopes — proud manhood's dreams — 

As a bubble that beads the wave — 
Gone where the sea-grass brightly gleams, 

Where earth once found a grave. 
The mother straining her wond'ring child 

To the breast its fate would hide, 
Pierces the storm with shriek as wild, 

As ever swept o'er the tide 

The demon shout of the hurrying winds, 

That revel amid despair; 
The soul thro' its horrors a solaee finds 

In the tranquil voice of prayer. 
Uplift the brow to that angry sky 

That hurls its dart of tire,' 
Your morn of light shall break on high, 

As its terrors here expire ! 

The waters close o'er that fated ship, 

And the seething waves are hushed ; 
Their rippling crests in calmness drip 

O'er the depths where strife is crushed; 
The quiv'ring beams of the morning leap 

In streams of purpling light. 
As tho' no storm e'er woke the deep, 

Ov shadowed its breast in night! 



60 the soldier's grave. 



THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 

The dead and dying lay around, 

Upon the field of death and strife; 
The eannon's boom had ceased its sound. 

And streaming breasts spoke ebbing life. 
Beside a rill that rippled through, 

A soldier lay with colors torn ; 
A broken blade — impnrpled — drew 

The scenes thro' which its folds were borne. 

I gazed upon the marble face, 

That showed the calm of death was sweet : 
I marked its beauty and its grace ; 

Its polished brow, — of love the seat; — 
Unconsciously I raised the blade, 

And pressed the cold steel to my lips ; 
When lo ! the scenes around me fade, 

As blood-drop from its keen edge drips ! 

Instinctive love — some far-off dreams 

Of soldier brother, 'quipped for war, 
Across my distant vision beams, — 

With bullet wound, and sabre scar; 
As musing thus, I nearer draw 

To him 'mid glory's trophies sleeping, 
When heavens ! what love marks here I saw. 

In death's repose their beauty keeping. 



THE SOLDIER'S CRAVE. 61 

1 raised his head upon my breast, 

And gazed into the glassy eves ; 
To those pale lips, my own I pressed, 

Now cold and still as winter's skies ; 
The rented nag, — a nation's trust — 

Across his still, cold heart I threw ; 
There to remain, till dust to dust, 

It bears no star, nor trace of blue. 

In genial earth his corse I laid ; 

His shroud the flag, for which he bled ; 
Beside his head the broken blade ; 

His tomb, the grassy mound o'erhead : 
The parting tear affection traced, 

Within my heart, more dear than when, 
His soldier garb Ins beauty graced, 

Among the serried ranks of men. 

Upon that groaning field of pain ; 

Beside that glinting, laughing stream; 
'Neath shady tree, — there to remain — 

Till Gabriel's trumpet breaks his dream. 
I parted from that grassy mound 

With tender feelings unsurpassed ; 
Where I in death my brother found 

With glory's wreaths around him cast. 

Now song of bird and croon of rill 

Shall hymn his requiem thro' the years : 

The beam of sun the cloud shall fill, 
That shall descend in grateful tears: 



C)-2 THE SONG-BIRD. 

Whilst other names less famed than he 
Shall lie in marble cold and white : 

The scented sod of victory, 

Shall mark my brother's grave to-night! 



THE SONG-BIRD. 

The song bird's life, as air is free, 
As dusky son of Araby; 
As laugh of rill, or hum of bee; 
As beam of sun or wave of sea; 
Beneath the greenwood's canopy. 
He sings his song of liberty! 

Facing the east his liquid note 
Exultant pours from swelling throat; 
Salutes the morning's smiling face, 
That blushing speeds thro' Holds of space : 
Gives life and glory to the scene, 
And paints the sod a deeper green. 

Who has not heard' the sky-lark's song, — 
As beam of gold the sky among; 
Who has not heard the robin's lay 
Make resonant the summer's day; 
Would in his heart the shadows hide, 
That Malice brings to swell life's tide. 



THE SONG-BIRD. 63 

Unceasing thro' Meridian's glow, 
Or when the evening's shadows now 
His joyful song unstinted trills ; 
His silver notes as water spills, 
To Him who gave his tongue its note ; 
Who poured the russet on his throat. 

The wand'ring orbs that climb the sky : 
That thro' the arch of heaven fly ; 
The lamp of night that doth pursue 
His god of light thro' fields of blue ; 
Would shed their soft reflected beam 
On him, as on man's fairest dream ! 

The silent throb of starry night 
Thrills, as the orb that gives her light : 
Beneath the shade of bending tree 
They whisper Nature's harmony ; 
On ravished ears its notes intrude. 
As song of bird in solitude. 

There would my soul communion find : 

There would my heart its treasures bind : 

Alone with nature and as free, 

As crystal star in ether sea. 

Beyond its orbit would I fly 

To Him who lit its flame on high. 



04 nature's lessons. 



NATURE'S LESSONS. 

How well tlie truant robin knows 
The time when come the winter's snows ; 
How well his instincts lead him where 
The perfumed summer scents the air; 
Fair offspring of the leafy dell, 
Amid its glories would he dwell ! 

E'en, too, the toiling busy bee 
That hummed his song of industry 
To flower, and shrub, and clover bloom ; 
To rose and lily's sweet perfume : 
That gathered from their cups the store 
His patience brought to winter's door ! 

Laborious ant, while Summer sung 
Her song of joy the earth among, 
]STo truant he while yet her beam 
O'er nature's mantle sheds her stream ; 
Her golden hours no pleasure gave 
Save where he would her treasures save, 
Retires within his mound of clay 
Secure "gainst winter's cheerless ray. 

Unthinking Man — in nature first — 
Where lie the joys for which you thirst ? 
Must you a lesson glean from them, 
The least of God's created hymn ? 



WINTEH. 65 

Must you, as Prodigal of yore, 
No treasure hoard, no blessing store ? 
Must winter's chills, unsheltered, find 
The treasures of your heart and mind ? 
And dearer yet, a conscience pure, 
Must you not this great boon secure ? 



:o:- 



WLMTER, 

Silently, stealthily, treading his way, 
Leaving the sun in his course behind ; 

Casting his gloom on the antumn day, 
That now in fetters, his shadows bind. 

Higher the Dog star climbs the arch ; 

Brighter the belt of Orion gleams ; 
Thro' quiv'ring space, supernal march, 

Lighting the earth in their argent beams. 

Pulseless and cold, as the touch of death, 
The faded glories of nature lie ; 

Cheerless and withered before his breath, 
Their sullied beauties, unpitying die. 

Where Poverty's hearth is cold and bare, 
His shivering throbs are keenest felt : 

Where Hunger pinches the cheek of care ! 
His vengeful buffets are fiercest dealt ! 



66 A DROP OF WATER. 

The grave of nature, in truth is he, 

That stores the treasures of Time's decay, 
Whose shroud of crystal is fair to see, 
• As promise of hope to his cheerless day. 

Our lives, as the years,- are growing short, — 
Steadily drifting to Winter's gloom ! 

As storm-tossed vessel that seeks some port, 
Earth's cares would end in the silent tomb ! 

Oh ! may that haven be one of bliss, 

Where winter's shadows are never known ; 

With joys surpassing our hopes in this 

To live in the liffht of God's heavenly throne. 



A DROP OF WATER. 

The crystal dew drops that repose, 
As sparkling gems on leaf or thorn, 

From ocean's breast in mist arose, 
To cool the brow of summer morn. 

The sun's bright beams their presence shroud, 
Absorbed in vapor upward ta'en, 

Invisible they shape the cloud 

That on the morrow breaks in rain. 



A DROP OF WATER. 07 

Whether as dew that beads the rose, 
Or genial show'r that cools the earth, 

The little drop of water shows 

The Hand divine that gave it birth ! 

Supernal ! as the orb that rolls 

Its pond'rous bulk thro' fields of space ! 

The same eternal Law controls 

The glitt'ring dew-drop in its place ! 

Whether in show'r, or mist, or dew, 
In ice, or snow, or hail, or steam, 

Its mission is as fair and true, 

As tint of flow'r or morning beam. 

Inexorable law, whose force 

Conveys the rain-drop from the stream : 
Whose sparkling glints thro' nature course 

In tiny wreaths of cloud or steam. 

The mighty lesson here is shown, 
That death is but a change of form ; 

That pearly rain-drop hither blown, 
Must as our lives obey the storm. 

Transcendent Law to Nature true, 
Be change of ours as fair as this, 

On heaven's fair flowers to rest as dew, 
Thro' clouds of glory and of bliss! 



G8 moore's visit 



MOORE'S VISIT TO COHOES. 

Here stood the master of the Lyre, 
The sweetest bard that ever wrote ; 

Whose songs evoke the patriot's tire, 
Whose genius struck the tenderest note ; 

Time's crumbling touch has no decay, 

For Erin's Bard or Erin's lay. 

How gazed he on those primal Falls. — 
The giants of the crested flood ? 

Who penned the "Harp of Tara's Halls" 
To strains that soothe, yet lire the blood. 

In verse as rhythmic in its force 

As is the Mohawk's rapid course. 

The Sappho of the " Burning Lyre ;" — 
The Pindar of the " Melting Lay ;" 

The bard of Erin's proud desire, 

To wrest his land, from foreign sway ; 

Now sees the struggling waters flow. 

In mad'ning wreaths to depths below. 

Oh, what a type of Erin's wrongs, — 
What fervid mem'ries come and go ! 

The rush of waters, like her songs, 
Now wildly leap, now gently flow ; 

NTow swell their measure on the air ; 

Now die away in murm'ring prayer. 



TO COHOES. 69 

The rush of waters, — like the fire 

That kindles in the Irish heart, 
Shall gather strength — a fun'ral pyre 

O'er which their wrongs shall fiercely dart : — 

O *-■ ' 

An avalanche of wrath and death 

To those who 've ground their hearts beneath. 

Thou mighty daughter of the flood ! 

Thou monument of earth's decay ! 
The hallowed spot on which he stood, 

Like thee in time shall pass away ; 
When not a solitary thread 
Of silver spray shall mark thy bed. 

And when Time's changes come and go, 
And thrones shall crumble into dust ; 

When sun and star shall cease to glow, 
And nature's laws eternal rust ; 

The wrongs that man to man have shown 

Shall stand before him at the Throne ! 



70 THE TOILER. 



THE TOILER. 

What nobler heart than thine — what form 
Sell-conscious of thy strength and worth ? 

What braver soul to face the storm 
The heritage of man from birth ? — 

Then up and dare the sneers of those — 

The pets of Fortune and your foes. 

Look upward from thy toil and show 

What man can do, what man hath done ; 

Life would be worthless here below 
If thou the battle hadst not won ; 

The elements of earth and air 

Have in tin 7 toil an equal share ! 

Whom dost thou fear if true thou art 
To self and manhood's law sublime ? 

Whom dost thou fear — whose nobler part- 
Keeps steady pace with march of time ? 

Where is thy peer ? With whom compare, 

If thou thyself the laurels wear? 

Art thou less favored than the hind 
That doth abuse God's many gifts ? 

Can wealth enrich the heart or mind 
Or coward dare where danger drifts? 

Ah ! no, the greater of the two 

Art thou, if to thyself thou 'rt true. 



THE POET'S LAMENT. 71 

Why rail at Fortune, when her dower, 
"With lavish hand to thee is given ? 

Within thyself is all the power, — 
When hand and heart have nobly striven 

To ameliorate your cause, 

When you, yourself doth make the Jaws. 

Then up and cease the puny cry ; 

You tight with dwarfs, and not with men, — 
The battle's yours, if you but try, — 

And if a failure, try again. 
The sturdy stroke of ax hath lain 
The mighty oak upon the plain .' 



THE POET'S LAMENT. 

Write something that will live in fame, — 

A friend once said to me ; 
Write something that will wreathe your name, 

Thro' ages yet to be. 

That something, 0, where can it be ? 

Where hidden in the earth ? 
What magic words can set it free ? 

What thought can give it birth ? 



72 the poet's lament. 

The song of beauty lias been sung. 
Since Eve first saw the light ; 

The chimes of Love thro' time have rung 
Their strains of wild delight ! 

The marvels of the earth and sea, 

The glories of the sky, 
Have swept the chords of Poesy 

In language pure and high. 

The secret wish, — ambition's aim — 
Has found its theme of praise ; 

The hero's deeds, that sculpture fame, 
Come up from Homer's days. 

The power and glory, love and light, 
Of Him who rules the spheres, 

Have sped from pens as bold in flight, 
As sun that shapes the years ! 

The wish for freedom — man's desire — 

That burns within the soul ! 
From buried pens has caught the fire, 

Which tyrants would control. 

Man's inhumanity to man ; 

The Scottish Plowman sung, 
That clouds the years since life began ; 

That has our bosoms wrung ! 



the poet's lament. 7^> 

There is no thought howe'er sublime, 

Xo theme however low ; 
But daring- pen has set to rhyme. 

To strains that deftly now. 

The cunning pen, of brilliant mind, 

Exhausting Nature's store; 
Leaves nothing for the groping blind 

Of beauty to explore ! 

" Quaternion spring from Nature's womb," 

I penned the other day, 
When lo ! I found the rhythmic bloom, 

Adorning Milton's lay! 

0, friend of mine, the search is vain, 

There gleams no crown for me, 
Contented must my muse remain, 

In dark obscurity ! 

But if a ray should thro' it stream 

To light some darkened heart, 
Acquiesced rests the poet's dream, 

That sped the magic dart ! 



74 BOREAS. 



BOREAS. 



The north wind blows his bugle horn, 

Away from the Polar seas ! 
Thro' the woody dell, of beauty shorn, 

He sweeps thro' its naked trees ; 
He ruffles the river, that erst had sped 

In shimmer of autumn beam, 
Then howls his delight where the leaves lie dead. 

By margin of forest stream ! 

lie gathers the snow-flakes upon his breast, 

Or bears them upon his wing ; 
Their pure white crystals, as lily's crest, 

Thro' the air he madly flings ; 
O'er moor and mountain, o'er lake and fell, 

He speeds on his wild career ; 
As the shock of battle, or billows' yell, 

He breaks on the startled ear ! 

O'er the bare cold cabin, of fire bereft — 

To comfort and cheer unknown ; 
Thro' the broken pane or chimney cleft 

His trumpet is loudest blown ; 
Where Poverty gathers her scanty gown 

Around her shivering form, 
His loudest whistle and darkest frown 

TTnpitying round her storm ! 



HOME. 75 

lie stills the prattle of rill and stream, 

With mantle as chaste as death ! 
The polished highway — the skater's dream — 

Is chiseled beneath his breath ! 
Over the river, his road is made 

Fairer than king ever trod ! 
Over the river, his floor is laid 

Meet for Olympian god ! 



■:o:- 



HOME. 

Wherever through this world we roam 
We find no dearer place than home ; 
Its memories, how fair and bright, 
Beneath its roof there is no night ; 
Its fond affections, tender, pure, 
Our warmest impulses allure. 

The child by mother's arms caressed — 
To mother's bosom fondly pressed — 
By lather's precepts day by day, 
Taught in virtue's path to stray ; 
And when to man or woman grown, 
Is left to battle life alone ; 
Say, can he e'er that home forget, 
That brings such mem'ries of regret? 



76 HOME. 

The wand'rer o'er the dreary wild, 

Who once was sweet affection's child; 

A prey to hunger and remorse ; 

A prey to disobedience' curse ; 

How do his thoughts in anguish now, 

When he recalls the long ago ; 

Would he, if now the power were given 

To breathe once more that peaceful heaven. 

Would lie in wayward fancy stray ? 

Would he his parents disobey ? 

Ah ! no, his heart's submission now. 
Beneath their will would gladly bow, 
Would enter in their joy or pain, 
Nor think he wore coercive chain. 

The sacred ties that wreathe the home, 
Are themes for many a precious tome ; 
Whose chastened influences throw, 
Their balm whereon their precepts flow : 
As beams of light they shed their rays. 
That thro' the soul awaken praise ! 
However poor the home may be, 
Its precincts bring security ! 

Homeless wanderer of the earth — 
•Proscribed by nature from your birth ; 
Has she no refuge found for thee, 
Thro' all your years of misery ? 
Has her great Author sent you here, 
Without a home, from year to vear ; 



THANKSGIVING REFLECTIONS. I I 

An outcast thro' the world to roam, 
Friendless, unloved, bereft of home ? 
Ah ! no, the Ruler of the spheres, 
Who numbers man's dark sea of tears, 
Has found for them a home above, 
Eternal as His light or Love. 



:o:- 



THAKKSGIVI^G REFLECTIONS. 

Once more our thankful hearts are raised ; 
Once more God's plenteous gifts are praised ; 
Once more the world beholds amazed, 

The strides that freemen make ; 
Once more the sumptuous feast is spread ; 
Once more our thanks to heaven are sped ; 
Once more we bow the grateful head, 

For joys that o'er us break ! 

But do we on this day of cheer — 
The fairest one of blissful year ; 
Do we forget the widow's tear, 

That speaks of grief and pain ? 
Do we forget the cheerless hearth, 
Where joy and comfort rudely part ? 
Do we forget the vengeful dart 

That tires the maddened brain ? 



78 THANKSGIVING REFLECTIONS. 

Do we forget the debt we owe, 

To Him who crowns our. bliss below: 

To Him whose blessings on us flow 

From lavish Hand divine ? 
To some, alas, the wealth He gives 
Within their own cold bosoms lives , 
The bounty which His mercy sieves ! 

Is hid, as in a mine. 

Oh ! you who 'd praise the God of light, 
For blessings which your souls delight ; 
Should break the gloom that clouds the night 

Of poverty and woe ! 
Should from your bounty give a share, 
To cheer the hearts of want and care ; 
Should preach the universal prayer, 

Of mercy here below. 

Would you avert the Rich man's doom ! 
Would build of hearts enduring tomb ; 
Must seek the chill, cold, haunts of gloom ! 

And chase their clouds away ; 
Then, then indeed, would thanks untold 
To God arise, more prized than gold ! 
To Him, the Shepherd of the Fold— 

Whose promptings cheer our way ! 

The humid, sinewy hand of toil, 
That bands the earth and plows its soil ; 
Would you its potency entoil, 
Whose cunning is divine ? 



HAD I MY LIFE TO LIVE AGAIN. 70 

Ah ! no, if you'd avert the fate, 
That Heaven decrees to high estate, 
You'd never sow the seeds of hate, 
Where Mercy's heam should shine. 



-:o:- 



IIAI) I MY LIFE TO LIVE AGAIN. 

How many a man is heard to say, 

" Had I my life to live again ; 
What faults would I not cast away ; 

How guarded 'gainst the wiles of men. 

The wasted hours, to pleasure lent, 
Would higher aims and hopes secure ; 

The noble thoughts by heaven sent, 

Should never flow thro' streams impure : 

The spendthrift life, of death the spring, 
Would seek the haunts of care and grief; 

Would counsel to the doubting bring, 
And to the weary, sweet relief: 

Within my home content should rest ; 

Arouud my hearth its comforts stream ; 
A father's love should fill my breast ; 

A husband's care my bliss and dream. 



80 HAD I MY LIFE TO LIVE AGAIN. 

The ways of God to man should be, 
From day to day, my earnest theme ; 

My liar.l should give, where poverty 
Obscures the light of heaven's beam ! 

The drunkards' haunts, the gamblers' den 
Would I avoid as death or shame ; 

My life should tread the paths of men, 

Whose deeds have left an honored name.'' 

Illusive wish, were life once more, 
Yours to squander, yours to waste ; 

As fickle would you ply life's oar — 
Delighted, each allurement taste. 

Man grasps the shadows as they fly ; 

The substance hid, neglected lies ; 
Deceit and falsehood catch his eye, 

And, truth eternal, homeward flies ! 

The yawning gulf that opens wide, 
Is as our lives to pleasure bound ; 

Unerring, as returning tide, 
Beneath its waves such lives are found ! 



freedom's barriers. 81 



FREED< >M'S BARRIERS. 

The swollen river bursts its banks, 

And sets its waters free ; 
As headlong charge of serial ranks, 

Imbued with liberty ! 
The threatening cloud will dart its lire — 

Sure presage of the storm, 
As seething earth, tumultuous, dire, 

It breaks in dread alarm ! 

The tranquil sea, beneath the lash — 

The angry tempest dares ; 
From furthest depths, as thunder's crash, 

Its crested grandeur rears ! 
Its frenzied billows onward roll — 

Tremendous in their wrath ! 
As manhood grasping freedom's soul ! 

Would clear its glutted path ! 

The river bears its tide away, 

As tribute to the sea ; 
The cloud that threatened dire dismay, 

Revives the grassy lea ; 
The tempest breaking ocean's calm, 

To nature lends its force ; 
That dying gathers perfumed balm, 

Of flowers in its course ! 



82 COLUMBUS. 

But tyrant laws, that cloud the soul, 

That chain the spirit down, 
Abysmal thro' the ages roll — 

Of hell the scourge and crown ! 
But man aroused, collects his might, 

To crush the Hydra form ! 
Transcends the ocean in the fight ! 

And supersedes the storm ! 



COLUMBUS. 

Of men renowned, hy adventure crowned, 

They bore him in chains away ; 
O'er that foam ilecked main, he gave to Spain 

In the noon of a brighter day. 
For she is gone whose glory shone 

Thro' all the trials he bore, 
Whose jewels sold brought wealth untold 

To Spain — from a distant shore. 

Ungrateful king, to basely fling 

The hero of vanquished wave ; 
In dungeon keep, who swept the deep, 

With courage supremely brave ! 
But alas, his quest thro' ages blest, 

What boots its glory now ; 
When all its claims and lofty aims. 

As shadows, wreathe his brow ! 



COLUMBUS. 88 

Three times lie bore from foreign shore. 

Glad tidings till then unknown ; 
Of sunny seas, whose Hebrides, 

He gave to Spanish throne ; 
Unpurchased gave, the land and wave, 

That God decreed should he, 
The fairest gem in the diadem, 

Of heaven crowned Liberty ! 

What grief and shame, now cloud the tame, 

Of him whom fortune blessed; 
Whose daring soul, 'neath heaven's control, 

The height of danger pressed ! 
Whose heart unawed at billows broad, 

Explored the works of God ; 
Whose fruitage gave to man the wave, 

That blossomed as Aaron's rod ! 

As unconfined, his daring mind, 

As land he would reclaim ; 
As bold and brave as mighty wave, 

Whose billows he would tame ! 
Prophetic theme — the scholar's dream — 

Is rudely swept aside ; 
And hirelings base, now take the place 

Of him who linked the Tide ! 

On scroll of Fame! be his the name, 
That gleams the brightest there ! 

Whose thirsting soul, gave man control 
Of lands beyond compare ! 



84 TO THE MOOX. 

ITis uncrowned life, now ends the strife, 
Valladolid mourns Ins doom ! 

Whilst ages hymn the requiem 
Of love, above his tomb. 



TO THE MOOK 

Your crescent of light in the western sky, 

When the bright god of day is descending, 
I< fair as the Promise that beams from on 
high, — 

Thro' the portals of heaven, transcending! 
You stream on our path from your home in 
the blue, — 

Dispelling the glooms that surround us ; — 
Fair queen of the night, your course is as true. 

As the sunbeams that gather around us ! 

O'er the crime startled street, or the slums of 
Despair ! 

Where Depravity spreads his dark pinion ! 
Your soft, silver beam, is as bright, and as fair, 

As tho' godliness ruled its dominion ! 
As Charity breathing her whisper of love. 

To the grief laden heart of the lowly ; 
Your mild beam of glorv is streamed from 
above — 

A proof that your mission is holy ! 



JO THE MOON. 85 

Lone watchers o'er night, what dark anguish 
and tears 
Are swept from their channels in sorrow, 
Beneath your cold ray, thro' the roll of the 
years, 
As your phases, they break on our morrow ! 
The light that you shed, on the black vault of 
night, 
Beneath which tired nature lies sleeping, 
You sweetly reflect from the great source of 

light- 
As Mercy o'er wickedness weeping ! 

Ere your circuit's completed thro' heaven's ex- 
panse, 
And your bright rounded beam is declining ; 
Ghost-like your tread, where the bright sun- 
beams glance, 
On the verge of the zenith reclining ! 
As true as the sunflower, you wheel in your 
course, 
Pursuing your god of devotion ! 
Obeying the laws that encircle your force — ! 
And swell the broad tides of the ocean. 



86 DAMON AND PHYNTIAS. 



DAMON AND PHYNTIAS. 

Dionysius, the tyrant, sat on his throne, 

And his anger was sorely stirred, 
Against the traitor who would disown 

His power, or his fateful word; 
With cruel revenge his dark heart was stung 

And demoniac sought the cause, 
So he had Phyntias in prison flung, 

For daring to ignore his laws. 

And now his captive a favor craved, 

At the hands of this cruel king, 
Whose power and anger he boldly braved, 

As the doom they were sure to bring ; 
So he asked his leave for a short sojourn, 

To settle his affairs with men, 
Leaving Damon, the pledge of his return 

To the prison's dark cell again. 

The merciless king revengefully glared 

On the hostage, determined, brave, 
Whose dauntless spirit the tyrant dared, 

In the midst of his courtiers grave ; 
" The death Phyntias deserved at our hands, 

Shall be thine at the place and hour, 
If he does not return to loose the bands, 

That now leaves thee in our power." 



DAMON AND PHYNTIAS. 87 

So spoke the dread king, and an angry frown 

His treacherous face overspread, 
Whilst Damon's courage but dimmed the crown 

That gleamed on the tyrant's head. 
The dark days sped by, the dread moment came, 

When the hostage to honor true, 
Was to die the death for that much loved name — 

A marvel of friendship to view ! 

Exultant the king derisively spoke, 

And his words were the words of scorn, 
When thro' the assemblage a form broke, 

' T was Phyntias, bleeding and torn : 
" Forbear your anger," Phyntias said, 

As he reached the grim place of death ; 
<l Forbear the terrors your wrath has bred 

And for his, take my latest breath. 

The swollen river — the robbers' delay, 

Have I braved to save my friend, 
That heaven would grant him a brighter day, 

Than the one which my fate would send; " 
Thus saying his arms around him threw 

With a clasp that friendship ne'er felt, 
Whilst nearer and nearer the moment drew, 

To which his proud spirit knelt. 

Rebuked was the king, yet a generous glow, 

Around his dark bosonr spread, 
" Forbear the sentence ! " he cried, and lo ! 

To his presence the friends were led, 



KK FRIENDSHIP. 

Praising their friendship, pure and great. 

That as light broke over his reign ! 
From his gilded throne, and lofty state '. 

He asked to be one with the twain. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

Untasted sweet, I fain would know 
Where grows your fruitage fair, 

Unselfish as the voice of Hope 
In joy, or grief, or care; 

Whose heart, responsive to our woes. 

Beats with a steady thrill ; 
"Whose breast is open to our cares, — 

A captive to our will ; 

Whose confidence is ours to keep, 

Despite foul envy's breath ; 
Whose every need is as our own, 

Thro' life,' till final death ; 

Whose pleasant voice is ever near — 

Encouraging and bright ; 
Whose eye is dimmed with sorrow's tear, 

When heart is steeped in night. 



MAY. 89 

1 fear me in this world of strife, 

Of selfishness and woe, 
Man's love of self o'ermasters all 

TTis friendships here below. 

Then where to seek this heavenly gift, 

Fair fruitage of our souls 
That breaks as music ou the heart, 

And all their wants controls? 

Where, but from Him whose hand divine 

Is ever round us east, 
Whose beams of love forever shine 

When life's fair sky 's o'ercast? 

Where, but from Him who 's ever near 

To soothe our every grief; 
Who comes at midnight's darkest hour 

To bring our hearts relief. 



:o:- 



MAY. 

Your morning brings delight, 

Beauteous May ; 

Whose ripples break in light, 

Beauteous May ; 
We hail thy song of mirth, 

Fair daughter of the earth; 

Whose smiles are Nature's birth, 

Beauteous May ! 



00 MAY. 

Thy balmy breath is sweet. 

Beauteous May ! 
With love and joy replete 

Beauteous May ! 
The robin's crimson vest 
In glory seeks your breast, 
With thrilling song oppressed, 

Beauteous May ! 

The Bee on golden wing, 

Beauteous May. 
Her drowsy anthems sing, 

Beauteous May. 
The lily's sweet perfume 
Whose. modest drooping plume 
Within thy bowers bloom, 

Beauteous May. 

Fair empress of the green, 

Beauteous May : 
Earth's fairest, brightest queen, 

Beauteous May : 
Your song is as the stream 
That glints your silver beam ; 
Of buds and flowers the dream, 

Beauteous May ! 

Sweet month of her whose hymn, 

Beauteous May : 

Was sung in Bethlehem, 

Beauteous May ! 



THE RAINBOW. 91 

Thy days, as hers, are bright, — 
Fair Rosary of light, — 
Whose star illumes our night, 

Beauteous Alav ! 



-:o:- 



THE RAMBOW. 

Symbol of Heaven's will ! 

Marvel of pow'r and skill ! 
Gladly we welcome your tints in the sky ! 

Fair as an angel's wing ! 

Fair as the hopes you bring ! 
Fair as the promise you bear from on high ! 

Are of the Deity ! 
Wondrous and fair to see ! 
Fadeless your spectrum thro' Time's changing 
years ! 
Ever the promised sign ! 
Breathing of Love Divine ! 
Bright are the vistas that stream thro' your 
tears ! 

Bow of the blue immense ! 

Pledge of Omnipotence ! 
Pure be the heart that looks upward to thee ! 

Emblem of joy supreme ! 

Keflex of Heaven's beam ! 
Guide me, Oh ! guide me ! thro' life's troubled 
stream. 



92 LOVE OF LAND. 



LOVE OF LAND. 

The love of land is God-like, pure. 
In patriot's breast it burns secure : 
Honor nor fame, nor wealth, can buy 
The soul of him who holds it high. 

it gleams as diamond in the mine — 
Within the breast it glows divine ; 
It breaks the prison's gloom in light, 
And cheers the darkest depths of night: 
As fair as morning's rosy hue 
Is love of land, sincere and true. 

I envy not the proud of earth, 
Whose titles are secured at birth, 
If that those titles were obtained 
Where blood of man in torrents rained ; 
Oh ! give me him, who, fighting gave 
A life to man beyond the grave ! 

A coward he, who would in mirth 

Impugn the land that gave him birth : 

Unfit for intercourse is he 

With those whose hearts would dare be free 

Earth holds no monster half so vile, 

As lie who would his land revile. 



THE CAPTURED FLAGS. 93 

Who claims the earth his resting place, 
Who seeks the Fount of Love and Grace, 
Must love his country and his kind 
If he that Grace and Love would find! 



-:o:- 



TIIE CAPTURED FLAGS. 

Return the flags that valor tore 

From reeking hands, deep-dyed with gore 

Return the flags that valor bore 

O'er trampled hearts, to rise no more 

'Gainst Freedom ! 

Return the trophies rent with strife ; 
The cost of many a gallant life ; 
Return the glory courage won 
Beneath the blaze of Southern sun, 

For Freedom .' 

Return the laurels dear to fame — 

The fadeless wreaths of deathless name ! — 

The heir-looms of a people's might 

To quench rebellion's star in night, 

For Freedom ! 

Return the daring and the pride, 
That brave hands bore thro' surging tide 
Of shock and charge and bolt of war: 
Thro' bullets' whiz and sabers' scar, 

For Freedom .' 



94 POLARIS. 

Shame on the truckling knaves that now 
Would snatch the wreaths from victors' brow 
Would dare return what manhood won — 
The glory left by sire to son, 

For Freedom ! 

The shades of those who fought and died 
Beside the Rappahannock's tide; 
By wood and river, field and ford 
Would rise, with the avenging sword 

Of Freedom! 

To smite the selfish hearts of those, 
Who lay supine beneath our foes, 
When in the balance quiv'ring lay 
The cause that lights our homes to-day 

With Freedom ! 



:o:- 



POLARIS. 

Where Ursa Major wheels his train 

Of light around your bright domain : 

Where Ursa Minor, nearer still, 

Obeys the mandates of your will : 

In circling flights their paths pursue — 

A glory in that arch of blue ! 

A greater glory must thou be 

To shape their course, superb to thee ! 



AMBITION. 95 

Casseopea, fair to view, 

Its axes bend around thee too : 

Camel opardus, Draco, all 

Their circling orbs you would enthrall ! 

Celestial marvel of the spheres, 

Whence come your days, where go your years ? 

What mighty influence hast thou 

T< > guide the orbit of the Plough ? 

Whose pointers mark thy home in space 

Unerring as the sun-dial's face? 



-:o:- 



AMBITIOX. 

How varied are the forms you take : — 

How fast your fetters bind ; — 
The impulses our lives awake, — 

That rouse the active mind ; — 
In love, or war, or statesman's craft, — 

As beam of sun you fly; — 
And proud the soul of him whose hand 

Your standard rears on high ! 

The thirsting soul is slaked by thee, 
From Nature's rills and streams ! 

You come as Fortune to the brave : — 
Enchanting; as her dreams ! 



96 AMBITION. 

You come the test of buoyant hope. — 

Excelsior ! and fair ! 
And daring is the heart that flings 

Your banner to the air ! 

The soldier on the tented field, 

Or 'mid the battle's shock : 
Beneath your spell is trebly brave, — 

Immovable as rock : 
Where danger looms, there are you found, 

Amid its crash and strife ! 
The headlong charge — disordered rout — 

Would give your promptings life ! 

The midnight lamp for thee is lit, — 

The lore of buried years ! 
From out the past is keenly sought, — 

Dark stained with sorrow's tears ! 
The gleaming thought by thee is sped 

In burning words that fly ! 
Thro' myriad hearts, as lightning's darts. 

That pierce the inky sky ! 

The bashful maiden finds in thee 

Incentive to her dream ! 
Her heart's fair hopes you would awake. 

As morning's crimson beam ! 
Around her life you'd weave the spell 

So often sung and told, 
That trusting love more potent is 

Than war, or shining gold ! 



THE MONTHS. 07 

Iii classic halls you 'cl rear your crest, 

Majestic and sublime ! 
Would penetrate the ardent breast. 

That niche the walls of Time ! 
But spectres from the hoary past, 

In grim and gaunt array ! 
Around your vaunted glory troop, 

To speak your swift decay ! 

Imperishable fame that lives 

Beyond the crumbling stone ! 
The hope that in the bosom lives, — 

That breathes of God alone ! 
The soul beyond this world's conceits — 

A heavenly jewel set — 
Than hero of a thousand fights, 

Is more triumphant yet ! 



-:o:- 



TIIE MONTHS. 

Before the sun, the twelve appear — 
The sons and daughters of the year. 
The two faced Janus coming first, 
From storm and cloud and crystals burst ! 
Pursues his cold, unpitying flight, 
Beneath the Dog star's blazing light! 



98 the months. 

Next, February, her hour glass drains. 
Thro' frost and snow and icy chains, 
Unmindful of our tears or woes, 
Her crystal mantle 'round us throws. 

March, in his turn, in swifter flight, 
Gives shorter hours to winter's night ; 
On equinoctial storms comes he, 
The sturdiest, bravest of the three. 

Succeeding, April next appears, 
Enriching nature with her tears ; 
The trembling bud she fain would bring, 
From out the gloom to clothe the spring : 
She sets the streams and rivers free, 
And rolls their treasures to the sea ; 
Then speeding thro' the arch of day 
Her offspring leaves to beauteous May. 

All pitying month, your tender trust, 
By sunny May is fondly nursed ; 
Beneath her sweet benignant smile 
Earth's glories bud and bloom the while ! 
Fair empress of the rolling green ! 
The twelve, as we, would crown thee queen- 
Solstitial June, with rosy cheeks, 
And red ripe lips our homage seeks ; 
Pours out her rich, luxurious feast, 
That flows exultant from the east : 



THE MONTHS. 99 

Thro' crystal bead and beam of sun 
Perfected life by thee is spun ! 
Fair month of flower, and bird, and bee, 
Would that our life was fair as thee ! 

Triumphantly the sun now streams 
O'er thirsting- earth bis ardent beams ! 
July's hot breath thro' nature o-] ows , 
And blasts the tints that deck the rose ! 
Exhausted blooms attest his ire, 
And droop before his beams of Are ! 

Xext, August comes with ripened sheaf, 
And yellow tint for shining leaf; 
The grateful orchard sings his song ! 
On golden chords its notes prolong ! 
Beneath his care fair nature's store 
is brought triumphant to our door! 

September, now, with deeper tints, 
The leaf of elm and maple glints ; 
Collects the treasures August bore, 
And leaves them at October's door; 
Queen of the forest and the wold, 
Whose etchings charge the green to gold ! 
Your days growing shorter as our own, 
In downward course you tread the zone ! 

( )ctober, next, with royal cheer 
Collects the vintage of the year; 



100 THE MONTHS. 

Right royally invites us all, 
To feast with him in princely hall, 
For her favorite and her heir 
Has come to bind her golden hair ! 
In rich libations, quaffs her wines, 
• And at her sumptuous table dines ! 
But nut-brown king, you're speeding fast. 
To shiver in November's blast ! 

The undertaker of the year ! 

Comes next in cloud and storm and tear; 

Strips bare the trees, their glories fling 

Beneath his feet unpitying — 

But death betimes bears him away 

To add his gloom to winter's day ! 

We next behold the changing year, 
Withered and old, infirm and sear ! 
With tottering step and swift decay, 
Calling on Time to close his day ! 
The chill of death is on his brow, 
And ice and snow enrobe him now ; 
But pitying time assumes his care, 
And ends his anthem and his prayer! 



TO THE PLANET JUPITER. 101 



TO THE PLAKET JUPITER. 

" The very law that molds a tear, 
And bids it trickle from its source, 

That law preserves the earth a sphere, 
And guides the planets in their course ! *' 

Celestial Orb ! how swift thy course 
Throughout the vast domains of God ; 

What wond'rous law propels thy force 
And bends thine orbit to its nod ? 

Thro' boundless fields of space you roam, — 
Thy bound'ries set ethereal there ; — 

The liquid depths of blue your home ; — 
Of God the glory, and the care ! 

IIoav nicely poised thy pond'rous mass, 
That rolls eternal 'mid the spheres ! 

What glorious orbs above thee pass ; 
( )bcdient to their portioned years ! 

Aphelion here would set thee free ! 

To wander thro' the blue immense ; 
But of his depths, God gave to thee 

So much for thine inheritance ! 

The sun, as centre of the Orbs, 

Proscribes their course with heavenly skill : 
Whose burning ray their bosoms throbs, 

< )bedient to his Author's will ! 



102 PURITY. 

Far, far away your path is fixed, 
As trackless as the boundless brine ! 

Far, far away your light is mixed 

With spheres more brilliant far than thine ! 

Who marks the wonders of the sky ; 

Who sees the mighty planets roll ! 
Would dare Omnipotence deny ! 

Would dare abiure His work — the soul ! 



PURITY. 

There is a flower that all unseen 

Within the bosom grows, 
More beautiful of fairer sheen 

Than hyacinth or rose ; 
Its fair white petals wreathe the heart, 

Around its pulses bloom ; 
As morning's beams, its glories dart. 

In streams of sweet perfume ! 

Seraphic smiles adorn the face 

On which its lights are shed ; 
Where'er it blooms there beams a grace 

By kindred virtues led ; 
Earth's fairest flowers fade and die, — 

Their life is as a dream, 
But Purity, thro' realms on high, 

In heaven shines supreme ! 



THE REJECTED POEM. 103 



THE REJECTED POEM. 

Alas, sweet words of rhythm, 

What hopes went out with thee : 
What bright, fair flights of fancy, 

To weave thy melody ; 
What anxious thrills came o'er me, 

To link thy chain of thought ; 
To shape thy studied numbers, 

With the chords that fancy wrought. 

What dreams of future glory ; 

What thoughts of joy and fame ; 
The theme of song ami story ; 

The pride of honored name : 
The dawn of a mind ennobled, 

With lights that brightly gleamed, 
As echoing notes of music, 

That thro' its chambers streamed. 

The perfume of love in nature, — 

All glowing as the sun ; 
The tint of leaf and flower, 

Thro' his bright glories spun ; 
The surging thoughts of heaven, 

That crowded thro' my brain ! 
Harmoniously were given 

To forge the lyric chain. 



104 SONG OF LIBERTY. 

Perchance I dressed my idol 

In garb beyond its sphere ; 
Perchance its rhythmic numbers 

In cadence were not clear ; 
Perchance my vain, fond thinking 

A glamour "round it threw, 
From which the eye of judgment, 

The robe of self-love drew ! 

AVhere self but sees perfection, 

Deceptive is its light, 
As the mirage, which thirst awakens 

Illusive to the sight ! 
As the hiring phantom beckons 

Our fainting steps its way, 
So the false conceit we nurture, 

Leads the pliant mind astray. 



:<>:- 



SONG OF LIBERTY. 

Sing! grateful hearts the song of praise, 

Exultant as the tongue can roll ; 
Sing ! Freedom's sons your wealth of days : — 

The pride that fills the conscious soul. 
Sing ! mighty rivers of the plains ; 

Sing ! snow-capped mountains of the West : 
Sing ! in Heaven's sublimest strains 

The cause that makes your land so blessed ! 



SONG OF LIBERTY. 105 

Sing, sing fraternal love and light : 

Sing, sing the wealth that nature yields ; 

Sing thou the glory and delight 

That tint your skies and robe your fields ! 

Sing, peace and joy, sublime and pure- 
Excessive as the heart can feel ; 

Sing! Freedom's tendrils, firm, secure, 
With song as loud, as thunder's peal ! 

Thrice sing your nag of azure line! 

The ret! ex of the starry sea; 
Sing, sing the faithful hearts and true— 
The martyred hosts of liberty; 

That fell beneath its torn breast, 

Defiant as the angry wave ; 

Eternal freedom for their crest. 

Victorious field their hallowed grave ! 
Recurring years the blessings sing,— 
The ceaseless anthem dear to fame; 
Recurring years fresh laurels brine- 

lo wreathe the splendors of your name: 
From pine-clad Maine to Tropic sea; 
From Eastern shore to set of sun : 
Sing out your .song of jubilee, 

For all that might and valor won. 
Exult that England's reign of fire, 
^ Within our land had found a grave ; 
Exult that patriot — son and sire, 
In battles van had died to save, 



tO(i HARSH WORDS. 

The land that now o'er earth supreme, 
Sends up its voice in song and praise. 

From mountain crest to glinting' stream 
Eternal, to the God of Days. 

Exult that fratricidal strife — 

As tyrant-rule has passed away, 
That honor, fame — a nation's life 

Is your's to celebrate to-day. 
As long as Hudson's crystal flood, 

Shall roll her treasures to the sea, 
The hymn as dear as patriot's blood 

Shall pour its trills to Liberty ! 



-:o:- 



IIARSH WORDS. 

The cruel lips that speak harsh words 

Are bloodless, cold, and thin ; 
As, is the heart from whence they flow 

Unpitying, all within ; 
The warmth which our nature feels, 

Around their portal dies ! 
As sunny beams that speed to earth. 

Are hid in clouded skies ! 



HAUSH WORDS. 1()7 

Who sees sweet childhood's tearful eves. 

When harshly told of wrong- ; 
Who sees its little quiv'ring lip, 

That should he tuned to song ; 
Who sees kind nature's rosy blush, 

Around its dimples play, 
Would ever speak the unkind word 

To chase that charm away. 

Who would deny the wounded heart, 

The balm with which to heal; 
Whose poisoned tongue, as adder dart, 

Would all its venom deal ! 
Ah! dead indeed to pity's touch, 

Is he who would inflame, 
The sacred tire that in us burns, 

With unkind words of blame. 

How many lives are won from sin, 

By words of tender tone; 
How many hearts with joy are tilled, 

On which the light ne'er shone ! 
Ah! churlish tongue, if you but knew. 

The charm you east away; 
You'd be to Nature's laws as true, 

As sun that lights the day. 

Who would rebuke his child for wrong, 

Should speak in gentle tone; 
The brutal tongue no conquest gains, 

Where wilful seed is sown • 



108 HALLOWEEN. 

But words of earnest, calm desire, 
Will pentrate the soul ; 

Around its shadows beam in light, 
This, this is Heaven's control ! 



HALLOWEEN. 

Once more the eve of Halloween, 
The dream of many a rustic queen ! 
The one fair night of all the year 
That maidens test if Love's sincere, 
Or if his arrows ere shall fly, 
Across their dim expectant sky ; 
Is come once more her tale to tell. 
And weave her weird, prospective spell 

The smaller fry are sent to duck, 
Or hazardous the apple pluck ; 
Alternate placed where candle glow, 
Or russet orbs their tintings show ; 
In whirling motion, tempting fly, 
And brave the one, the danger try ! 

The key, thro' which the melted lead 
In various shapes prophetic sped; 
Oft wakes the throbs of joy or pain, 
As fancy links the magic chain ! 



HALLOWEEN. 109 

" This shapes an engine plainly here, 
Which shows I '11 wed an engineer; 
While you less lucky in the race, 
Do in this spade your fortune trace; 
As sure as fate here comes a pen 
Which binds Kate's life to classic men ; 
Whilst here an ax and hammer prove, 
Where lies the test of Mary's love. 

Now let us try the apple's core, 

And for awhile with Fortune soar: 

Here, I myself, — the other here — 

The one I love so very dear; 

If that I fly, he follows after, 

You must not make a cause for laughter; 

But, if he flies, and I remain, 

'T is proof I'm hound in Cupid's chain ! 

Whilst it we both to cinder turn, 

'T is sure Love's fires within us burn ; 

But if opposing courses take, 

Our love to other hearts must break. 

Xow let us write the A. B. C. — 

Another test of destiny ; 

In water set and downward faced, 

From interference safely placed; 

If that the Fates should turn one o'er, 

Or two, or three, or even more, 

Then, then do Hymen's laws proclaim, 

Your future husband's monogram! " 



11(1 DEFEAT. 

The yarrow branch lias next its charm 
To keep the hearts of lovers warm : 
Or to estrange them at its will 
Despite of human art or skill : 
As Delphic Oracle its plot 
[s intricate as Gordian knot ! 

As cosmetic for beauty's cheek. 
The potency of love she'd seek; 
Yet as that agent would she find 
That art — when painting love is blind : 
That spell, and charm, and molten lead. 
Are impotent as silken thread ; 
That virtue, modesty and grace. 
Are first — triumphant in the race ! 



DEFEAT. 

Vain, boastful land, your haughty crest 
Once more is bowed before the West ; 
The golden trophy you would bear 
Across the sea is vet our care ; 
And shall remain from year to year. 
As long as we've a Volunteer, 
Or men to build a swifter shell, 
If you the Tbistle should excel. 



TO THE MUSE. Ill 

You've tried the Thames, and now the Clyde, 

To build a boat to stem our tide : 

But Briton's art, or Scotchman's skill 

Is impotent to do your will : 

As long as we can claim a Payne 

The shining bauble shall remain. 

Ah ! you are jealous of the West, 
Of her young Eagle's lofty crest ! 
You'd give your wealth, if not your crown, 
For strength to tear our fabric down ; 
But while our sons on land or sea 
.Are true to God and liberty ; 
Unmatched you'll rind them, and as brave, 
As ever rode the crested wave. 



:o:- 



TO THE MUSE. 

How quickly do the moments fade 

When thrilled beneath your spell, fair maid ! 

What varied thoughts ! What quenchless tire 

The mind awakes to feed your lyre — 

Harmonic sounds, in rhythmic flow, 

Are sped across your magic bow ! 

The soul with thee is ne'er alone — 
Companion of the vast unknown ; — 



112 TO THE MUSE. 

Its fairest hope in tliee is found 

Thro' wond'rous paths sublime, profound ;- 

Thro' God's domains, exalted, pure, 

Its sweetest thoughts von would allure ! 

The siren song von sing to me 
Oft wakes the trills of ecsta'cy : 
And I, obedient to your will, 
In broken numbers try my skill ; 
Yet, tho' discordant be their tone, 
The fault is thine, and thine alone. 

From mercenary motive he, 

Who would attune his lyre to thee ; 
Accurst the strain, howe'er sublime 
Its currents flow thro" waves of Time; 
Accurst its purpose and its aim — 
The weeds that choke the path to fame. 

Thrice blest is he who moulds the thought 

Unfettered, fadeless and unbought ! 

To Him, whose inspirations draw 

Our souls to heaven's supernal law ! 

To Him, his first, best thought be given — 

The Mighty One of earth and heaven ; 

Next to the land that gave him birth. 
Wherever be that spot of earth ; 
Then to the morale of his race, 
Be his the task each ffood to trace — 



THE SON(J OF LABOR. 113 

To God ! to race and country true 
What noble deeds might he not do ! 

The impure lyrics sung to thee, 
That flush the brow of Modesty ; 
Miasniie as foul odors' breath 
Are sped on wings of gloom and death ! 
From such as these, fair maid, my muse 
Shall never cheek of thine suffuse. 



THE SONG OF LABOR. 

Swiftly the canst.' of the Toiler is speeding, 
Onward, and upward, it shoots thro' the 
gloom ! 
On thro' the marts, where tired labor lies 
bleeding; 
On thro' the forge, and the swift clicking 
loom : 

On thro' the charnel mine, 
Over the iron-line : 
On thro' the city, the mountain, and glen ; 
Speeds the electric wave, 
On its wild course to save 
(rod's noblest hand-work, the toilers of men. 



114 THE SONG OF LABOR. 

All honor to those, who have tunneled the 
mountain, 
And handed the earth with a girdle of steel : 
They are Life's heroes, their genius the foun- 
tain, 
From whence flows the comforts the pam- 
pered now feel. 

On to their rescue then, 
You that would dare he men, 
Stand by the toiler, with purse and with pen, 
Their's is the nation's tight : 
Your's is their cause to right, 

Freedom is staked on the toilers of men. 

Ye who have read the Transfigured of Thahor, 
Relax the fierce struggle, His presence is 
nigh, 
The wealth you've acquired, is the outcome of 
labor ; 
And wealth is but dross, at the soul's parting- 
sigh ; 

Cease the fierce conflict then, 
Stewards of God and men : 
Flaccid the muscle and aimless the life, 
Of the proud artisan, 
God's noblest type of man 
With gaunt hunger staring his children and 
wife. 



IT LOOKS LIKE SPRING. . 115 

The lilies of toil, Columbia's fair daughters, 
Have buckled the armour of Strife on their 
breast; 
Fair as the maidens by Babylon's waters : 
Honor their safe-guard, and Virtue their 
crest ; 

True when the order came, 
Careless of love, or blame, 
Principle called — she ne'er wooed them again. 
Braved they each scoff and jeer, 
Braved they each threat and sneer, 
To link their just cause with the toilers ot 
men. 



-:o:- 



IT LOOKS LIKE SPRING. 

It looks like spring, pedestrians cry, 
As thro' the muddy streets they tread 

It looks like spring, the rills reply — 
Plethoric grown — by streamlets fed. 

It looks like spring. The children play 
"With top and marble, rope and swing 

The noisy sparrows o'er the way, 

Have noisier grown, for this is spring. 



Ill) IT LOOKS LIKE SPRING. 

ft looks like spring, the ice and snow 
Dissolve their crystals, 'neath the sun ; 

The reeking iieHs, set free, e'en show 
The tints that Nature there has spun. 

It looks like spring; the hare brown earth 
That yesterday was rolled in white, 
• In desolation, and in death ! 

As Hope, puts on her robe of light. 

It looks like spring, the violets hue 
Once more in leafless glade is seen : 

Whose faintest, fairest tint of blue 
Would tain adorn the infant green. 

It looks like spring, the song of bird, — 
The merry ring of children's play; 

Once more upon the green are heard, — 
A prelude to the joyous May. 

It looks like spring, the cheerless heart. 
As budding leaf awakes to light ! 

It looks like spring, when cares depart 
Upon the sable wings of night. 

It looks like spring, the naked trees 
Put forth new life to robe the wood : 

The springing grass the eye shall please, 
And sunbeams play where winter stood. 



TO A STAR. 



TO A STAR. 



117 



Thou sun of worlds unknown, whose light thro" 

heaven has shone ; 
How softly falls thy beam, on mountain, hill, 

and stream ; 
[Jnchar.ged thy place and true, in heaven's fair 

arching blue ; 
Brilliant as when earth first caught thy rays. 

Thy form is still the same as when God lit thy 

flame ; 
Thro" ages rolling on thy silvery light has 

shone ; 
Undimmed thro" myriad years thy glory still 

appears. 
Superbly set in heaven's fair dome. 

Thy home how far away, near God's eternal 

day ; 
Beautiful, sublime, resplendent as thy prime ; 
God's halos round thee glow in beams of light 
that show 
Thy wondrous beauties to our gaze. 

Incandescent star, thro' boundless space how 
far ? 

As infinite thy course as He who set thy force ; 

And vet thy rays combine where twenty mil- 
lions shine 
On heaven's broad, ample road sublime ! 



US TO A STAR. 

Art thou a place of rest for souls of heavenly 

quest ? 
Or art thou fairer still, the home which God 

doth will 
For happy creatures blest, to find eternal rest 
In view of His bright celestial throne ? 

How brilliant is thy race thro' boundless fields 

of space ; 
A sun more bright at birth than that which 

lights the earth ; 
Whose glories far away illume the Milky 

Way,- 
The "golden-sanded" centre of the spheres. 

Twenty million suns, thro' which God's mercy 

runs, 
In wondrous floods of light, as beautiful as 

bright, 
As marvelous and fair as He who fixed them 

there, 
For men and angels bright to gaze upon ! 

The faintest in the blue, whose light ne'er came 

to view, 
Not since creation's dawn its light to earth has 

drawn ; 
Mysterious star and lone, whose light is near 

the throne ! 
! break in heavenly splendor on my soul. 



WASHINGTON. 119 



WASHINGTON". 



Exalted son of Freedom's light — 

The theme of man's unstinted praise — 
As long as God shall roll his days, 

Or morning's glow succeed the night ! 
Familiar name on childhood's. tongue, 
How many a song to thee is sung — 
Of Freedom's host, the first among, 

Who fought to gain a people's right ! 

We speak in reverence of thee — 
Whose deeds of glory unsurpassed, 
A halo round your country cast — 

The brightest star of Liberty ! 

The flag you raised undimmed appears— 
The pride of manhood thro' the y§ars — 
Beneath its folds there lurk no fears, 

Of slavish chains, or tyranny ! 

Man's dearest hope — freedom at birth, 
By thee thro' blood and strife was won— 
You gave his life a brighter sun. 

And fructified a fairer earth ! 

Your work achieved, its blessing now, 
Is stamped in freedom on the brow — 
Before whose eminence we bow — 

That give our homes their joy and mirth! 



120 DECORATION DAY. AN ODE. 



DECORATION DAY.— AX ODE. 

There is no death ! The graves you (leek 

Are beautified by flowers of spring- 
There is no death ! The. grass you tread 
Fresh beauties round them fling. 

There is no death ! Those silent graves 
Bring forth new life from day to day ; 

A fitting tribute to the dead 
Fast mould'ring to decay. 

There is no death ! The useless dust 
O'er which in life we daily tread, 

Evokes the tints of plant and flower — 
A glory 'round them spread. 

Yes, deck these graves with nurtured flower 

Fair as the hue ot rosy morn, 
Death and decay shall reach it ere 

Another bud is born. 

From out these honoured graves new life 
Shall spring, to deck the vernal May, 

While memory's wreaths — a transient bloom 
Shall wither and decay. 

Yes, deek these graves beneath whose mound* 

The heroes of your country lie, 
With rarest gilts from Nature's field, — 

The flowers that never die. 



THE DIVER. 121 

Bring the rich treasures of the mind, 

Undying love, sweet poesy ; 
Bring prayerful thoughts to deck the graves 

Where death, is life set free. 

Oh ! bring the living fire of Truth ! 

The wish to die for cause as grand ; 
The deathless yearning of the soul 

To die for Fatherland. 



-:o: 



THE DIVER. 

Away, thro' the depths of the mighty wave,— 

Where the shark and dolphin glide ; — 
The daring Diver intrepid brave 

Is borne beneath the tide ! 
Away, where silence eternal reigns ; 

Where tentacled monsters creep, — 
Thro 1 groves of coral, — unplowecl domains — 

That blossom beneath the deep ! 

Where pink-dyed aster — anemone — 

In wondrous hue is found ! 
Away, where the brawling, surging sea 

Awakens the depths profound ! 



122 THE DIVER. 

Away t)ii that floor till then untrod, 
He moves thro' its maze of bloom ; 

Thro' trellised arches — that speak a God — 
That startle its caves of gloom ! 

What strange adventure ? What daring quest, 

Uncanny beyond compare, 
Would tempt the Diver beneath the breast, 

Of the frothing surges there ? 
The story is old, as siren's song, 

A ship went down in the sea, 
Bearing her burden of life along, 

To its groves of mystery. 

The shining ingot — of man the dream — 

The treasures of mine and loom, 
Borne as bubble upon the stream, 

Thro' its noiseless halls of gloom ; 
These would he snatch from the ghastly wreck, 

Would bear them from out its grave ; 
Thro' the swirl of ocean — the prize a speck 

Of the wealth beneath its wave ! 

On the slippery deck of that reeling ship, 

Unsteady and slow his tread ; 
Beneath the ocean's dark, sullen drip 

He moves thro' its floating dead ! 
Thro' ghastly horrors his way he gropes. 

Past echoless cabin and stair ! 
Thro' fluttering sails, and tangled ropes. 

Sad relics of life's despair ! 



THE WONDERS OF GOD. 123 

Away, past monsters' inquiring gaze, 

That heightens the awful gloom ; 
In quest of trinkets that mocking blaze 

On the broken heart of bloom ! 
One false step on that slippery deck, — 

One snap of those lines of life, 
Would end his quest — as that vessel's wreck— 

Now prone 'neath the surges' strife. 



-:o: 



THE WONDERS OF GOD. 

Absorbed in wonder and amaze 

I raise my soul to Thee, 
Whose fiery orbs thro' heaven blaze. — 

Superb in brilliancy : 
The penciled beam that lights the sky, 

That floods the fields of space ; 
From sun to sun electric fly, 

Transcendent as Thy Grace ! 

Around, above, where'er w r e gaze, 

God's wond'rous skill is found ; 
Unending as His song of praise ; 

Supernal and profound ; 
The blade of grass receives His care, 

His rain-drop and His sun ; 
As does the soul His sweetest prayer, 

When sanctified and won. 



124 THE WONDERS OF GOD. 

Behold the mighty ocean roll, 

Stupendous and sublime ! 
Beholds its tides, 'neath heaven's control, 

Obey their ebb and prime ! 
Behold its vastness and its might : — 

Its never ceasing song ! 
Obey the God of Love and Light, 

Thro' all the years among ! 

Within its breast what creatures live, 

Beneath its wave what bloom ! 
What glorious functions does He give 

To life within its womb ! 
The tireless workers that unite 

To build the coral reef, 
Is dear to Him as orb of light. 

Or glory's proudest chief. 

The teeming ocean and the earth, 

Attest the pow r er of God ! 
Who gave to Nature's laws their birth, — 

Who clothes the vernal sod ! 
Whose odors scent the budding rose, — 

Accords the song of bird, 
That pours his trills to many a close, 

That have the bosom stirred ! 

Who sees the morning's smiling face, 

With amber tinting spread ; 
Who sees the bead of crystal grace 

The lily's drooping head ; 



THE WONDERS OF GOD. 125 

Who sees the sun pursue his course, 

Incandescent, fair ; 
Would in his heart deny the Force, 

That wheels his glories there ! 

Who sees the mantle of the night, — 

As herald from the tomb ! 
Who sees the star's taint, distant light, 

That would her vault illume ! 
Who sees her changing orb of light, 

Pursue its rounded way ! 
Would not break forth in wild delight 

To praise the God of Day ! 

Around God's least created thing, 

His glories most appear ! 
The drowsy bee on painted wing, 

That sips the honeyed tear ; 
The thrifty ant, that toiling bears, 

His winter's store of cheer ! 
Awake our souls to heavenly care, 

And point a moral here ! 



126 THE BATTLEFIELD. 



THE BATTLEFIELD. 

The red field of battle, deserted of life, 

Its wet robe of carnage exultingly spread ! 
Where the conflict and charge sped o'er havoc 
and strife, 
And the actors, as leaves in the autumn, lay 
dead ; 
Where the demon sped shell on its mission of 
death, 
Unrelentingly tore thro' the ranks of the 
brave ; 
Where the cannon's dull boom shook the fair 
earth beneath, 
And the pitiless shot gave to valor a grave ! 

Where the onslaught was fiercest, a soldier lay 
dead, 
With the star-sprinkled flag held in loving 
embrace, 
In the dark gulf of danger, where chivalry led, 
He lay with its folds partly shrouding his 
face ; 



THE BATTLEFIELD. 127 

Around him were strewn the brave comrades 
that fell, 
'Neath the tierce crash of battle, as madly it 
tore, 
Where victory wreathed her brow 'neath the 
spell, 
That Glory's red hand to her throbbing 
heart bore ! 

Here lies the war horse, discomfited, slain — 
Thro' his nostrils the tire of the battle has 
sped ; 
Beside him the rider still holding the rein, 
By which his wild course thro' the battle 
was led ; 
The hilt of a sword in the other hand lies, 
But where is the blade that adorned its 
sheen, 
Alas ! it avenges the red stream that dyes, 
The dew crystaled mound, and the flower- 
scented green. 

Where yonder rude bridge crosses over the 
stream — 

A relic of peace in the sweet long ago, 
Ere the red bolt of war — in swift lurid gleam — 

Sped over its arch from the guns of the foe ; 



128 THE BATTLEFIELD. 

Where the sedge and the grasses bend light to 
the breeze, 
And the song bird awakens the gloom with 
his trill ; 
Where the sun faintly streams thro' the foliaged 
trees, 
And the cresses, as garlands, droop over the 
rill. 

Low, bending, a soldier stoops over that stream, 
All anxious to snatch from its ripples a 
drink ; — 
The rude bullet seizes his life and his dream, 
And he falls as the shadow that darkens its 
brink ! 
Ah ! merciless shot had von swerved from your 
course, 
The sword thrusts that pierced his brave 
heart would allay, 
Your mission of. death, its dread terror and 
force. 
But to add a few moments to life's closing- 
day. 

The clouds of that strife have long floated away, 
And the brave hearts that fell 'neath their 
shadows, so deep, 
In the sweet calm of death, lies their valor to- 
day, 
Until the last trumpet awakens their sleep ! 



THE BATTLEFIELD. 129 

What reck they the glories their victories gave, 
To the bright cause of Freedom, of country 
oppressed 
Beneath the green sod, with the earth as a 
grave, 
They lie as the myrtle, that hallows their 
rest. 

They sleep unremembered, the (hiring, the 
brave, 
~No' tributes of worth to their mem'ries arise ; 
They sleep as the sailor that rests neath the 
wave ; 
They sleep as the cold sod that over them 
lies. 
The trust and the pride of a nation should 
claim, 
The patriot's tribute for deeds of renown, 
In letters whose glory should trumpet their 
fame, 
Engraved on the heart thro' the centuries 
down ! 



130 MEMORY, 



MEMORY. 

Electric spark from Nature's cherished womb ! 
How swift yqur flight, thro' Time's abysmal 



way 



How keen your glance amid its death and 
gloom, 
That hide Oblivion's long Cimmerian day ! 

They troop as shadows from the land of 
death, — 
The buried treasures of the sunny past ! 
That shone o'er life's entrancing, balmy 
breath, 
Ere sorrow's mantle o'er their bloom was 
cast ! 

Youth's happy hours, evanescent and bright, 
Bring from the past their mem'ries to the 
soul ! 

As morning breaking from the gloom of night. 
Their vanished glories thro' the bosom roll ! 

The level sward, where once the goal was set ; 

The glancing ball that o'er its mantle flew ! 
The forms of those, that in the contest met, 

On thy swift wing, our thoughts once more 
review. 



MEMORY. 



131 



The branching tree, that lent its cooling shade; 
' The humid brow, with exercise aglow ; 
Where many a plot of youthful mind was laid ; 
Are, as the plotters, thro' the years laid low ! 

The fadeless grove of laurel and of palm, 

Where song of bird made resonant the day ! 

We stray in fancy thro' their shade and balm, 
Seeking the nest of linnet or of jay. 

Our school-days bring the sober thought oi 

care, — 
The master's frown,— the pliant rod of woe ! 
The truant heart that would its terrors dare,— 
Whose palm, unflinching, would receive the 
blow. 

The brave companions of the past arise ! 

Their love and friendship, insolence and 
pride : — 
Thro' far off vistas do we strain our eyes, 

To see, if they, as we have stemmed Life's 
tide. 

The dreams and hopes of life's maturer years, 
The shattered cause, the patriot's regret ; 

On glancing thought, in vividness appear, 
As tho' their light, in time had never set! 



182 carriers' new year address. 

We bail thy shades, fair messenger of 
Thought,' 
For with thee comes the chord of many a 
song ! 
When buoyant life, thro' fleeting vistas sought 
The fancied joys, that would its days pro- 
long ! 

The broken strings, we hail their presence 

too ; — 

As clouded sunbeam, darkly hid from view; 

They speak of blighted hope, and promise 

true : — 

Ere inky Mght, her mantle o'er them threw. 



CARRIERS' NEW YEAR GREETING, 

For the world-wide information 

We've borne to your door ; 
For the News of far-off countries, 

As those of native shore ; 
For the shipwreck and disaster. 

That words hut ill express ; 
For these as faithful carriers 

We hand you an Address ! 



carriers' new year address. 133 

For the gossip and the scandal. 

That set the world ajar ; 
For the dark intrigue of nations, 

That heralds strife and war ; 
For the wrong, and crime, and sorrow, 

That do the heart oppress, 
We ask your gracious bounty 

To handsel our Address. 

For pathetic song and story. 

That sparkle as the rill ; 
For the daring deeds of glory, 

The heart and bosom fill ; 
For the sparks that speed thro' ocean, — 

Whose light illumes the Press ; 
The bearers of whose light'ning thought, 

Present you their Address ! 

For the scaffold and the prison, 

The bridal and the tomb ! 
For the cruel laws that wither 

Creative thoughts of bloom ! 
For the noble aspiration, 

No tyrant can suppress ; 
We seek a place within your heart 

To place our bold Address ! 

Thro' the sunshine and the shadow. 

The storm and the shower ; 
Thro' the chill, cold blast of winter, 

Or snn's all glowing pow'r ; 



134 NIGHT. 

To your trust have we been faithful 
Thro' scenes that brought distress ; 

For which assured of your reward 
We tender our Address ! 

For the clouds of Eighty-seven. — 

The sun of Eighty-eight ; 
We greet you with our dearest wish 

That God will bless your state ; 
For the joys that crowned your Christmas,- 

A Nation's fearless Press. — 
We offer you our compliments 

And our New Year's Address. 



NIGHT. 

Where gathers the Night her dark curtain of 

gloom ? 
Whence comes the stillness that steals thro' her 

womb ? 
Does fear make the tiowers distill their perfume 
To hallow the Night? 

Thro' the. shadows of Night does Hope wing 

her way, 
Unerring, as 'neath the bright beam of the day ? 
Does thought speed as swift thro' the crystals 

that spray 

The robe of the Night? 



NIGHT. 135 

The message of danger, the mission of love, 
Are their glances as fair thro' her dark silent 

grove ? 
Is Heaven's bright promise that comes from 

above 

Less true in the Night ? 

The sunbeam that hides its fair light in her 

breast ; 
The zephyrs that blow from her groves in the 

west ; 
Are they less delightful because of thy crest, 
Dark, shadowy Night? 

The sentinels guarding the depths of her wave ; 
The shadows that flit thro' the gloom of her 

grave ; 
Do they not reflection as earnestly crave 

Tho' hidden in Night ? 

The pine trees that wave their tall heads in her 

stream 
Look weird, as the spectres that float thro' her 

dream, 
To nature are dear, as the Orient beam 

That burgeons in Night ? 



136 NIGHT. 

O'er the crime-fettered city her mantle is 

spread, 
As deep as the silence that reigns o'er her dead ! 
Thro' its arches the stealthy, dark criminals 

tread 

To startle the Night ! 

The bright dream of glory that lights np her 

gloom ! 
The fire sparks that memory bears from her 

tomb ! 
The odors that float thro' her gardens of bloom 

Incense the Night ! 

Where her fringes hang deepest the weary find 
rest ; 

Beneath her dark frown are their sorrows ca- 
ressed ; 

To the tear-laden eyelash, in pity, is pressed 

The finger of Night ! 

Where the feint streak of morning, empurpled 
appears ; 

Where the sun glints the dewdrops, as joy's 
crystal tears, 

The gloom that surrounds her, as grief disap- 
pears, 

So vanish our Night ! 



THE SPARROW. 137 



THE SPARROW. 

Hast memory for the past, 

Little Sparrow. 
.For the winter gone at last, 

Little Sparrow. 
For the days of gloom outspread, 
Unsheltered and unfed, 
But happily now sped, 

Little Sparrow. 

Tho' quarrelsome thou art, 

Little Sparrow. 
Thy hardships touch the heart, 

Little Sparrow. 
Our pity is aroused, 
When we note how 7 ill your 're housed, 
By eat as rodent moused, 

Little Sparrow. 

The cheerless home you find, 

Little Sparrow, 

But catch the biting wind. 

Little Sparrow. 

Your quiv'ring tiny wing 

Small shelter to you bring 

'Gainst winter's 1 titter sting, 

Little Sparrow. 



138 THE SPARROW. 

You are a type of man, 

Little Sparrow. 
On the same aggressive plan, 

Little Sparrow. 
In anger you're as blind, 
As selfish to your kind — 
But where perfection find 

Little Sparrow ? 

Forced emigrant of test. 

Little Sparrow ! 
They ill-repay your quest, 

Little Sparrow, 
Bred across the main. 
Where confiscations reign, 
Your mission is quite plain, 

Little Sparrow. 

They'd feed you here on hugs. 

Little Sparrow. 
On flies, or worms, or grubs, 

Little Sparrow. 
But being of English birth, 
Such things arouse your mirth, 
For Britian claims the earth, 

Little Sparrow. 

They say you'd rule alone, 

Little Sparrow. 
Our eaves and trees your throne, 

Little Sparrow, 



THE SPARROW. 139 

The oriole aglow, 

The robin we long know. 

From us, thro* you, must go, 

Little Sparrow. 

Your toleration here. 

Little Sparrow, 

May end in aught but cheer, 

Little Sparrow. 
Fight yourselves among, 
But robins* thrilling song- 
Must float in joy along. 

Little Sparrow. 

Propensities for tight, 

Little Sparrow, 

But wicked hearts delight, 

Little Sparrow, 
So if you would be blest, 
Why, build your little nest 
And give us peace and rest. 

Little Sparrow. 

If not, why disappear, 

Little Sparrow, 

We "11 have no trouble here, 

Little Sparrow. 

( )ur home is not for thee, 

Who 'd stifle Liberty ! 

We '11 have no anarchy. 

Little Sparrow. 



140 LABOR DAY'S SONG 



LABOR DAY'S SONG. 

Tli rice welcome the day, whose fair morning is 
breaking, 
In roseate tints thro' the eastern sky ! 
Thrice blest be its beams, when tired labor 
awaking, 
Sinks all its cares in the moments that fly ! 
Long has its want been felt ; 
Long has the toiler knelt ; 
The wealthy have spurned the workingman's 
pray'r ; 

Bravely the light was fought ; 
Dearly the boon was sought ; 
Of sweet relaxation from labor and care ! 

Proudly they'll gaze on the fair sky above them ! 

Proudly their hearts on the morrow shall beat ! 

Proudly they'll smile on the dear ones that 

love them ! 

Proudly the voice of their brother shall 

greet ! 

Conscious of pride and worth ; 
Children of toil from birth ; 
Of Mammon the outcast, he's ever the same ; 
Brave where the engine reels ! 
Brave where the cannon peals ! 
Brave in each danger, that trumpets our name ! 



LABOR DAY'S SONG. 141 

Shame on the hand that would wrest from the 
toiler, 
One sweet day of pleasure to lighten his 
load; 
Shame on the caitiff- — humanity's spoiler. — 
Who'd lengthen his year on the long, weary 
road : 

Faithful to God is he ; 
Nature's nobility ; 
The nations of earth owe their glories to him : 
Toiling for pittance small ; 
King over men withal ; 
Still at the mercy of task-master's whim ! 

Hail the bright day when the toiler is mas- 
ter ; — 
His destiny wreathing fair garlands to 
fame ! 
When those who'd oppress him will sink in 
disaster ; 
And honor redound to the workingman's 
name : 

True in that hour of pride ; 
True as returning tide ; 
Fair be thy mission, and true be thy creed : 
True to posterity ; 
Honor and liberty ! 
Then, then, shall the toiler be noble indeed ! 



142 MEMORIAL DAY. 



MEMORIAL DAY 



The fairest flowers that crown the spring 
To your green graves, in love, we bring — 
The yielding earth's sweet off'ring, 

. To honor thee. 

Whether beneath mausoleum, 

Or lowly grave, with letters dim, 

Our hearts are filled with grateful hymn 

To memory. 

The treasured relics of the past 
Around your graves are fondly cast ; 
For deeds of glory unsurpassed. 

For country ! 

The torn flag that valor bore 

From Gettysburg, to South'rn shore ; 

Thro' which the shell and bullet tore 

Defiantly ! 

The broken blade, to honor true, 
Upon your graves as laurels strew ; 
When War's dread charge his clarion blew 

Uproariously ! 

The anguished tear, by sorrow shed, 
O'er gallant hearts that nobly bled ; 
For father, brother, husband dead 

For country ! 



FEBRUARY. 143 

We bring the anthem and the song, 
That thro' the years shall roll along ! 
That place your heroic deeds among 

The Cimbri ! 

We bring the sculptured wish, ani thought, 
Within our hearts for deeds unbought ; 
That where you fell, and how you fought 
Will yet recorded be. 

That Fame will yet a tablet raise 
In glowing words of love and praiSe 
To you, whose glory, shed its rays, 

On Liberty. 



:<>:- 



FEBRUARY. 

Thon short lived daughter of the year, 
Thy days of gloom are fled, — 

Days when sorrow hid her tear, 
As cemet'ries their dead ; 

Days of cheer, and joy, and song, 
To Fortune's favored few ; 

Days of want, and grief, and wrong- 
To those she never knew. 



144 FEBRUARY. 

Thy winter robe of ice and snow, 

From earth shall pass away, 
Beneath the sun's exultant glow. 

And Nature's lengthened day; 
The song of bird new r life shall give, 

Where all is pulseless now ; 
The tint of flower once more shall live 

To deck earth's changing brow. 

Thy predecessor left to thee 

A heritage of tears, 
That "have been shed where misery 

In squalid haunts appears ; 
Thy chill cold blast, as miser's dole, 

Unpitying has swept, 
O'er many a heart and weary soul 

That have in sorrow wept. 

But spring's fair morn, with rosy smile, 

Shall paint the earth anew, 
And flow'rs that have been hid the while 

To Nature shall be true : 
Not so the hearts sunk deep in grief, 

For these there is no cheer, 
The spring-time comes, but no relief 

Will ever robe their year. 

Ah !, yes, there is a spring for them, 
Whose flowers shall never die ; 

Where winter's storm shall never dim 
The brightness of the sky: 



APRIL. 145 

Where never cloud of misery 
Shall break in tears of gloom. ; 

Where life is an eternity 
Of bliss beyond the tomb! 



-:o:- 



APRIL. 

Thou tearful daughter of the year, — 

The one-time nurse of bud and leaf, — 
You leave us with repentant tear 

For thy protracted days of grief; 
Faithless to thy trust thou'st been, 

Whose smiles were wont to robe the earth ; 
Capricious grown your woof of green, 

Unfinished lies — a theme for mirth, 

The turbulence of March you brought, 

Freakish, petulant, and severe ; 
Of sister May you never thought, 

Her genial smile, her sunny tear ; 
With thee the sigh of sorrow goes, — 

The stricken heart, the throb of pain ; 
The new made graves, wherein repose, 

The victims of your short-lived reio-n. 



146 THE VIOLET. 

The bud and blossom watch your flight, — 

Scarce daring to disclose their birth, — 
Whose smile, was ever your delight, 

Now hide their glories 'neath the earth ; 
Who would have thought your gentle heart, 

Whose copious tears and smiles are shed, 
Would from the scene in sorrow part, 

And leave unhuried, winter's dead. 

The muddy stream, the naked bough, 

The bare, brown, landscape peering thro" 
The sod upturned beneath the plow, 

Too plainly show neglect in you : 
The robin trolls his broken lay, 

As if surprised at Nature's chill, — 
Displeased, he fain would fly away ! 

Where joy invites a warmer trill ! 



-:o:- 



THE VIOLET. 

Under the bare, brown earth long hid, 
Beneath the dead leaves of another year. 

Thou comest arrayed at Nature's bid, 
As joy's bright smile or affection's tear. 



JUNE. 147 

A promise of hope, as fair, as true, 

O'er the dreary waste of our lives is sped, 

As thy opening leaves of deepest blue, 

That bloom thro' the mosses around them 
spread. 

Soon, soon shall the ghostly branches wear 
Their budding glories of life orce more. 

Soon, soon shall the fields, now cold and bare, 
Their faded mantle of green restore. 

The quick'ning joy that the spring-tide darts 
Thro' the breast of Nature shall stir our own, 

Till life shall breathe where the winter parts, 
From the pale grim shadows around him 
thrown. 

Thou beautiful emblem of Hope and Love, 
That opens thy tiny leaves to-day, 

Thy birth, as the soul, was planned above, 
And led thro' the gloom, where the sun- 
beams play. 



JUNE. 



Once more, fair month, your bloom and balm 
Are spread o'er earth, as Heaven's psalm ; 
Once more, fair month, your evenings close, 
As joy, around the pink and rose ; 



148 JUNE. 

Once more the dew, as crystal, gleams, 
Where sleeping daisy coyly dreams! — 
The song bird trolls his sweetest tune 
To welcome thee — fair month of June ! 

Your morning breaks thro' eastern skies 
In quiv'ring beams of varied dyes ! 
Your fiery chariot upward rolls, 
Where God's supernal law controls 
Its wond'rous course thro' fields of space- 
Then guides it back with steadier pace ; 
We part with thee, alas, too soon ; — 
For Heaven's delights pervade the June. 

The joys of nature brightly show, 
Your.o-lorious mission here below ! 
Thro' tint of flower, or song of bird, 
Our hearts with joyous praise are stirred ! 
In laugh of rill, or hum of bee, 
Your days roll on in ecstacy ! 
The voice of God our hearts attune 
To sing thy song, fair month of June ! 

Yon climb the zenith to its crest, 
Fair month with heart of Jesus blest ! 
Your longest day in splendor rolls 
Its flood of glory on our souls ! 
Your night, as sweet as joyous tear, — 
Bright heart and centre of the year ! 
As Vesper hymn, or streamlet's croon. 
Your anthem floats, fair month of June. 



THE MEETING OF THE RIVERS. 149 



THE MEETING OF THE RIVERS. 

Impetuous daughter of the flood — 

The rock-ribbed Mohawk— swift and brave 

In stern repentance, calmer mood, 

Now seeks the Hudson's placid wave ; 

As Passion's slave, by death set free, 

Drifts onward to eternity. 

Rest, angry wave, from storm and strife, 
Faith bears thee now upon her breast. 

Imparts new beauties to your life, 
The happy fruit of calm and rest ; 

Onward in sweet placidity 

Thou wayward offspring of the sea, 

Onward till Time— Saturnian break 
In myriad fragments this fair earth, 

Till Gabriel's trumpet shall awake 
The dead, — to an eternal birth ; 

Onward till Earth shall spend her force, 

A burning mass in Nature's course. 

Aye, leave behind the haunts of toil, 
The click of spindle, thud of loom ; 

The weary task, whose endless moil, 
Pales the fair cheek of maiden bloom ; 

Onward in laughter, bright and gay, 

Thou beauteous child of foam and spray! 



150 WIGGINS. 

~No enemy of man art thou, 

Until his laws divert thy course. 

Stamp slavery upon thy brow, 

And make thy wave a thing of force ; 

To whirl the wheels of Toil and Care, 

The pale, gaunt offspring of Despair ! 

Onward to join your sister fair, 

To float the wealth of held and loom ; 

Onward in thy course for e'er 

Past sunny slopes and fields of bloom ; 

Bearing upon thy crystal breast 

The treasures of the East and West, 



-:o:- 



WIGGINS. 

Now, Wiggins, where is your dread warning 
'Bout the rents in the earth so alarming ? 

Sure if you had a rest, 

'Neath her beautiful breast, 
We 'd then have an end to your storming. 

Oh ! 't is you that are great at prediction, 
Whose terrors won't brook contradiction ; 

When the planets and stars 

In ethereal wars, 
Are the hobbies vou ride on for fiction. 



WIGGINS. 151 



The Earth,— the poor darling,— you'd smother. 
As tho' we could get such another ; 

Her quakings and fear, 

Would bring joy to your ear, 
As an ingrate that teases his mother. 

If the planets have all come together, 
Their courses ne'er bother each other ; 

They have done so before 

A thousand times o'er, 
The orbs of one beautiful mother. 

'Twere better you conned your notation, 
About each fair planet's rotation ; 

'T is then your dull mind, 

Would enlightenment find, 
Of their heavenly courses and station : 

You fixed on the time to a fraction, 
That drove all our minds to distraction ; 

That made us all feel, 

So bad for Mobile, 
You doomed to that thing called attraction. 

But the dear Earth's centripetal motion, 
That keeps her fair land and her ocean, 

Forever in place, 

In that circular race 
With the Sun as her god of devotion. 



152 WIGGINS. 

I wish to the stars ! you old mentor, 
Some other old crank or inventor, 

Would rock you to rest, 

On some hurricane's breast : 
As near as my wish to its center, 

Where the Earth, in her seething commotion. 
Would trot you about with her motion ; 

Then grind you to dust, 

]SPeath her terrible crust! 
As tine as the sands of the ocean, 

Or toss you about on the billow, 

With the wild surging wave for a pillow ! 

Or send you to crave, 

In Aeolus's cave, 
A place 'neath some sheltering willow. 

O'er your head-stone I'd write an inscription- 
What a humbug you were at prediction ; 

How your turbulent mind, 

Ran on storms and Avind, 
As fierce as some hag's malediction ! 



TRUTH. 153 



TRUTH. 

Truth ! heavenly Truth, should guard our life ; 

Should guide our acts from day to day; 
Should arm our hearts against the strife, 

The world would roll across our way. 

Temptations come in divers ways ; 

As impure streams to crystal flood ; 
They come as clouds o'er summer's days. 

Or fiery fiend to mountain wood. 

They come as tares to choke the seed, 
That God implanted in the heart ; 

They come as waifs that onward speed, 
In pleasing shapes, with poisoned dart, 

Deceptive as the Dead Sea fruit, 

Deceit and Falsehood hand in hand, 

Approach the sacred shrine of Truth, 
With all the wiles at their command. 

But vain their efforts to allure 

This heavenly gift from paths of right ; 

As Hope and Faith are fair and pure, 
So is this beauteous thing of light ! 

All-trusting Truth, how fair art thou ; 

What friendships and what loves are thine ; 
There rests a glory on the brow 

Of him whose life would make thee shine. 



154 THE TORN POEM. 



THE TORN" POEM. 

Unthinking child, you have torn, 

Those fair sweet lines of song ; 
Whose earnest words would have borne 

The anthem of joy along ! 
The mind that wove their measure, 

To thy rhythm -that sped her way, 
Enkindled the fire of pleasure, 

Within my cold heart to-day ! 

What hours of anxious thinking ; 

What hopes, what joys, what fears; 
What rosy chaplets linking 

With the tints of the future years ; 
What deft, bright thoughts arranging, — 

As sweet chords of music sped ; 
What thrills, what doubts, what changing. 

Thro' their echoing cadence shed ! 

Thus, are our dearest treasures, 

Fled ere their value is known ; 
Thus, are our sweetest pleasures, 

As beams of the morning flown ! 
Thus are the joys we nurture 

Borne from earth away. 
As those lines of ripened culture, 

Jhat shone thro' my heart to-day. 



SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 155 



SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 

Chasing the sunshine over the lea, 

The shadows follow as waves ot gloom ; 

Over the mountain, the river, the sea, 
They follow as grief to the silent tomb ! 



The penciled beams of the morning show 
Their glinting arrows on lake and stream ; 

O'er field and woodland their glories flow, 
As hopes that break on tho lover's dream ! 

The shadows pursue the beams of light, 
As sorrow obscures the joys of life ; 

To-day when our path looks fair and bright, 
To-morrow brings clouds, and tears and 

strife ! 

( )f sunshine and cloud are our lives made up, 
Chasing each other in mad career ! 

To-day when pleasure o'erflows our cup, 
To-morrow 't is drained 'mid sorrows' tear. 



15(3 OLD GRIMES. 



OLD GRIMES. 

I 've read the news with much regret, 

But hope it is not true, 
That clear Old Grimes sent in his cheeks, 
And skipped his pants of blue. 

'T is not his " old long coat " I mourn, 
"All buttoned down before ; " 

But that he 's gone, ne'er to return, 
To rest by Jordan's shore ! 

II His heart was open as the day," 
And tho' he oft had cramps, 

His charity as water flowed, 
For strolling bugs or tramps ! 

His pain was such for all mankind, 

He never felt his own ; 
The poor, the sick, the lame, the blind. 

Had pity for them shown. 

If e'er his words in anger broke, 
'Twas when he tried to scratch, 

The last fusee he had in store, 
And found it would not catch. 

From sin his breast was ever clear, — 

For man no malice bore : 
The lusty tramp he loved to cheer 

While gulping down his store ! 



OLD GRIMES. . 157 

But, if alas ! he's laid at rest, — 

For trials he never knew, — 
Whose heart would warm the turtle's nest, 

Tho' occupant bit thro' ! 

His boots, his pants, his striped vest. 
His frilled shirts, neat and clean ; 

His coat with pockets in the west 
He's left to Albert Green ! 

His epitaph I proudly write,— 

Whose earnest deeds and ways 
Shone like a taper in the night, — 

A theme for love and praise. 



EPITAPH. 

Here lies Old Grimes, at rest from care, 
Whose path in life was blest, 

Because the Picnic or the Fair, 
Ne'er entered in his breast. 

He never saw the great Parade 

That thronged the streets of Troy ! 

Nor made of Politics a trade, 
Which others so enjoy. 

His life's devotion was to give. 

What other hands secure ; 
The good of heart he taught to live, 

By lending to the poor. 



158 COHOES 

Beneath the tables of the great 

He never erossecl his feet ; 
Xor never walked the streets when late, 

Or asked his friend to " treat." 

He was no " masher " in his daw 

As man}' can attest ; 
From River street he kept away 

When going east or west. 

I fear his funeral was small, 

Because no politician, 
In spring of year or in the fall, 

He never sought position. 



COHOES. 

Show me a word which you can choose, 
That plays with rhyme as does Cohoes ; 
The happy theme of bard or muse 
Has none to equal thee, Cohoes. 

The rosebud glistening with dews 
Reflects the morning's saffron hues, 
Whilst Nature's tints a joy diffuse, 
Around thy happy homes, Cohoes. 



COHOEJ 



159 



The girls walking out in two's 
Beside the Mohawk or the Meuse, 
Or perchance beside the Ouse 

Tread to the measure of Cohoes. 

Tie who is troubled with the blues, 
Who would his friends and foes amuse. 
Let him some pleasant tale perus 
Then stroll along thy streets. Cohoes. 

The man who pays his labor dues, 

Who trades with Christians and with Jew. 
Who always minds his P's and Q">. 
Is ever welcome in Cohoes. 

The many fair and pleasant views. 
Fairer, than are the London Mews: 
Will never tire the man who sue-. 
For recreation in Cohoes. 

From children's hats, to ladies" shoes. 
For everything that man can use. 
If you will not the folks abuse 
You'll get good value in Cohoes. 

Good reading in Dispatch or News, 

Will many wholesome thoughts infuse. 
And like some torch, or gentle fuze. 
Arouse the minds in thee. Cohoes. 



160 conoES. 

He that search of wealth imbues, 
With steady stroke, the timber hews. 
Is never known to take a snooze 
In Mammon's Court, or in Cohoes. 

The ladies graceful, sweet adieus, 
Whose earnestness doth oft confuse 
The bashful, and their cheeks suffuse 
With rosy blushes in Cohoes. 

If you would pleasant thoughts diffuse, 
And with me take a lengthened cruise 
I'll introduce you to the Druse, 
Who never saw the famed Cohoes. 

How many men their tempers lose, 
Slip into danger's dangling noose, 
Whose early training often rues, 
The man who never saw Cohoes. 

Thro' shady walks of limes and yews, 
From sunny streets to somber pews, 
From whence each thought of good accrues 
To those who live .in thee, Cohoes. 

It softly blends its rhythmic coos, 
With what w r e have and what we quese, 
And still its loving note renews 
To link itself with thee, Cohoes. 



COHOES IN RHYME. 101 

It sweetly rhymes with whose and woos ; 
And swiftly passes lurking ruse, 
Then turns its thoughts to sav'ry stews, 
The poetry of life Cohoes. 

The man with numberless ados 
And ills that oft his spirit bruise, 
If he stop chalking billiard cues, 
His friends, no doubt, will him excuse 
And make life happier in Cohoes. 

Xow slowly does my meter ooze, 
As tho' indulging in a booze, 
Its dribbling nonsense it eschews 
To sing the praises of Cohoes. 

Still dost thou rhyme with ileecy ewes, 
With North Carolina's river Neuse, 
And still the Muse another brews, 
And bids farewell to thee, Cohoes. 



-:o: 



COHOES IN RHYME. 

And now orthoephists oppose 

My effort to pronounce Cohoes, 

Yet, though the task be hard, who knows, 

The willing Muse may strike a pose, 

And ring another on Cohoes. 



162 COHOES IN RHYME. 

Its rhythm blends with winter's snows, 
As thro' the air it fiercely blows, 
Whose beauteous features interpose 
Between rough nature and Cohoes. 

The glorious sun in summer glows, 
That decks the earth in emer'ld clothes ; 
He paints the lily and the rose 
That bloom within thy bowers, Cohoes. 

The dynasties of earth that rose 
And fell, thro' strife of mortal foes ; 
Do all their histories disclose 
Within the archives of Cohoes. 

It rhymes with the mikado hose. 
Or ballybriggan if you chose ; 
There is no task you can impose, 
Too strong to crush thy muse, Cohoes. 

To gossips that intrude their nose 
In men's affairs, as carrion crows, 
Will find their daughters without beaus, 
If they repent not in Cohoes. 

If we should take the ayes and noes 
On all the scandal they expose, 
The affirmative would find repose 
Upon the minutes of Cohoes. 



COHOES IN RHYME. 163 

Who has not read of Ireland's woes, 
The licensed slaughter other Yoes; 
Her treasured song whose measure flows, 

As rhythmic as thy muse, Cohoes : 

When Freedom from her sleep arose, 
Arranged her troops in martial rows, 
And as the scythe in autumn mows, 
So fell her enemies, Cohoes. 

And now her blending notes propose 
To link themselves with sober prose, 
Whose flights with beauties often grows 
Sublime, within thy halls, Cohoes. 

Of tomahawk and Indian bows, 
Where deeds of horror often froze. 
Thy cooing letters now compose 
The poetry of thee, Cohoes. 

Who hath not read of Ruth and Boaz. 
From opening verse unto the close, 
The softening influence it throws 
Around the morals of Cohoes. 

When nature doth her gifts dispose 
With lavish hand to these and those, 
There is no halting as she goes, 
Her rosy feast is in Cohoes. 



164 COHOES IX RHYME. 

But they who would your powers noze, 
ISTow find you rhyming with transpose : 
And so their doubtings you depose, 
And art thyself again, Cohoes. 

The cow that in the pasture lows ; 
The triumphs which our spirit owes, 
To Nature, and her law of Ohs ! 
Unmatched, are found in thee, Cohoes. 

Devouringly she doth enclose 
Within her rhyme the weedy woos, 
Until the Muse grows adipose — 
Plethoric, as thy wealth, Cohoes. 

Still dost thou rhyme with gentle does. 
With what the thirfty farmer sows, 
To what our life too often shows, 
The greed of wealth in thee, Cohoes. 

Downward reaching to the toes 
Thro' all its somersaults and throes. 
In passing takes along the O's, 
And tho' not rhythmic, the dodoes 
That never saw thy Falls, Cohoes. 

Another rhyme we find in drowse, 
Also in gloze, and in impose ; 
Then hounding on to predispose, 
Pull up the Muse and call a poze, 
For further rhyme for thee, Cohoes ! 



A LINGERING LOVER. 165 



A LINGERING LOVER. 

Loving Winter in the lap of Spring, 

Don't know enough to say adieu ; 
Whilst she, the saucy, lazy thing, 

Leaves all her work undone — 't is true ; 
Has Time relaxed his stern control, 

To let this damsel have her way ? 
Why not dismiss her antique beau, 

And clear his mud and slush away. 

Her beauteous sister, glowing fair, 
With rosy chaplets in her hair, 
Is waiting for the hour when he 
Takes his departure, then will she 
Find her task no easy thing 
To finish up the work of Spring ! 

Poor May, your sloppy sister leaves, 

(As all such careless sisters do,) 
Her piles of mud, as garnered sheaves, 

For your bright beams to wriggle thro' ; 
The cold, bare earth beneath her care 

Looks dreary, dull, and void of cheer; 
I feel as though I'd tear her hair 

For causing 3 r ou such work, my dear. 



166 SHATTERED HOPES CONTINUED. 



HOPE DEFERRED. 

Tell me not in glowir.g numbers 
Winter's robes are tied the ground, 

Whilst the mud and snow but slumber 
By the frost securely bound. 

Spring is coming, so is summer, 
If our patience stand the strain ; 

But our brows each day grow glummer 
For hope deferred will dull the brain. 

Mud to-day — wet snow to-morrow, — 
Frost at night, Oh ! endless woe, 

What a crop of tears and sorrow, 
Clouds our footsteps here below. 



:o:- 



SHATTERED HOPES CONTINUED. 

Trusting heart, your painted picture, 
Green with verdure, bright with sun ; 

Is as treasured relic shattered 
Ere its outlines were begun. 



the turkey's soliloquy. 167 

Snow again, Oh ! bear me whither 
Orange blossoms bloom the while; 

Away from scenes that die and wither ; 
Where sunny beams no longer smile. 

Where are the hopes that poets painted, 

Resonant with song of bird ? 
Beside the way-side have they fainted, 

Bearing on their breasts — absurd. 

Come, balmy spring, next year, or never! 

Life's a burden while you stay ; 
The mud and slime our feet would cover. 

Grow more audacious every day ! 



:<>:- 



THE TURKEY'S SOLILOQUY. 

Away from her perch the Turkey saw, 

The shadows of night come down, 
Dark as the picture her fancy drew, 

Of the crime infested town ! 
" To-morrow," she cried, " my brood and 1 

By caterer borne away, 
Will cheer some gourmand's groaning board 

To honor fair Christmas Day! " 



1(38 the turkey's soliloquy. 

Inclining her head, where her offspring slept, 

She counted them o'er and o'er; 
'•My nine fair darlings," she mused, and wept 

" Shall we roam the fields no more ? 
Shall my yearning heart no more be filled 

With your eager quest for food ? 
Ah ! no, for palate of greedy man, 

Now claims my tender brood. 

Dyspeptic stomach, and dainty taste, 

Your succulence will enjoy ; 
With greedy relish, and lavish waste, 

Which the famished poor decry ! 
If only the fragments they'd give away 

From their bounteous store of cheer ; 
Then would I welcome this feast of love, 

The happiest one of the year. 

Thanksgiving over, I little thought, 

The morrow would be my last; 
But when I heard the farmer say 

The turkeys to-day must fast ; 
I knew death's shadows were drawing near, 

For I heard my mother say, 
Ere she was sold to the greed of man 

She fasted the previous day." 

The chill, cold morning's lingering light, 
Now crept, o'er the spectral floor ! 

Bearing the shadows and gloom of night 
Thro' the rickety barn door ! 



the turkey's soliloquy. 169 

When lo ! dread voices are heard without, 

hi traffic, that terror brings ; — 
Another moment the latch is raised, 

And the door on its hinges swings. 

A faint low gobble aroused the rest, 

Unconscious of harm or fear ; 
They wondered their mother should feel op- 
pressed ; 

They noted the glist'ning tear ; 
The huckster that higgled with farmer Jones, — 

They wondered what brought him there, 
When their parent's sorrowful, drooping head ; 

Too plainly spoke — despair ! 

The buyer of turkey's measured their weight 

To the fraction of a grain ! 
When the farmer begged ere yet too late, 

That one should at least remain ; 
lie put the question, "now which of you ten 

Would survive the other nine," 
When out spoke the weeping mother hen, 

" Let the sad lone lot be mine " 



170 LABOR'S REMONSTRANCE. 



LABOR'S REMONSTRANCE. 

Yes, close your mills ye merchants 

'Gainst sturdy hands of toil; 
Ye who reap its plenteous harvest ; 

Who store its weary moil : 
Alas ! that you've the power, 

To cause such wide-spread fear, 
On the dark, cold brow of winter, 

When all look chill and drear. 

Yes, close your mills ye merchants, 

To please an angry whim ; 
The wrong is yours to righten : — 

The cause is vague and dim : 
Remember that oppression 

Shall meet its just reward, 
When friends of honest labor 

Shall yet be placed on guard. 

For shame brave land of freedom ! 

How fallen is your name ; 
If the willing hand of labor, 

Must be relaxed in shame ; 
Oh ! show to them around you 

That Freedom still survives ; 
That God bestows His blessings, 

On him who nobly strives ! 



labor's remonstrance. 171 

Revoke the cruel order, — 

There's honor to he won ; 
For anxious hearts are waiting 

The dawn of Monday's sun ; 
Tho' fancied wrongs may move you, — 

One hungry orphan's cry, — 
For food, or tire, or raiment, 

Should all its stings decry ! 

You've wealth, and cheer, and power, — 

With every comfort stored. — 
The myriad hands that make it 

Are paupers at your board ; 
Would you obstruct the fountain 

From whence those blessings flow, 
To win an empty triumph, 

Over a fancied foe ? 

Ah! no, the pride of freemen 

Will guide your counsels now ; 
And the joys of home made happy 

Will light each honored brow ; 
For better than the triumph 

Is the conscious thought of right ; 
When the clouds are dark and drifting. 

And the heavens are hid from siffht ! 



172 VENUS. 



VENUS. 



The hungry air is biting cold ; 
The robe of Nature, sear and old ; 
The venomed snow dust coming down, 
Would clothe the earth in vestal gown ! 
Would wreathe her ghastly face of gloom, 
In fairer shroud than decks the tomb ! 

The gray, cold morning's ling'ring light, 
Would fain repose on breast of night, 
Would fain prolong the gloom and chill 
That cloud the brow of yonder hill ! 
That tremble through the ghostly trees 
To chant November's obsequies ! 

Sends out her herald fair and bright, 
To glimmer on the verge of night ! 
Fair Lucifer — the morning star, 
Reflected streams her light afar : 
In tranquil glory rolls her beam, 
As Mercy clothing culprit's dream ! 

Fair blossom of the rising sun, 
Of circling orbs, the fairest one ; 
Do mortals live upon your breast, 
With purpose truer and more blest ? 
Do Winter's chill and summer's glow 
Alternate o'er your bosom flow ? 



THE TORNADO. 173 

What is your purpose, beauteous orb — 
Whose glories make our bosoms throb ? 
Art thou the resting place of those, 
Who've conquered death — of sin the foes — 
The purgatorium of the blest, 
Where happy souls securely rest ? 
Whate'er thou art, a fairer beam, 
Ne'er pierced the air or lit the stream i 



-:o: 



THE TOKNADO. 

Down the Mississippi valley — 

Over the ice-bound lakes ; 
As a million rifles' volley; 

The fierce Tornado breaks ! 
Over the hill and the river — 

Over the mountain and plain ; 
Envenomed ! his lances shiver, 

As tempest ridging the main ! 

Dead to the voice of pity ! 

Hither his coursers speed ; 
Over the hamlet and city — 

Fiercer than miser's greed ! 
Unpitying onward he presses, 

Destruction strewing his path ! 
Waving his ebon tresses, 

As dark, grim, swaths of wrath! 



174 THE TORNADO. 

Fiercely lie sweeps thro' the tower, 

Bearing its steeple along ! 
Over the river his power, 

As hungry furies throng ! 
Onward, still onward he presses, 

Bearing bridges away ! 
Fiendish, as demon's caresses ! 

His pinions shadow the day ! 

Over the calm stretching ocean, 

Howling ! he gathers his might ; 
Fearlul, his strife and commotion ! 

Hoarsely ! laughs his delight ! 
The mast he bends like a willow — 

Stoutly built though it be — 
Down in the trough of the billow 

He whirls the vessel in glee ! 

Groaning, and shattered, and riven, 

As foam-ileck bears her along ! 
Backward again is she driven, 

Where the swirling waters throng ; 
Down thro' the boiling commotion — 

Down thro' the calm and the gloom 
The bright winged bird of the ocean, 

Forever finds her a tomb. 



time's ledger. 175 



TIME'S LEDGER. 



A NEW YEAR SERMON. 



I pored o'er the Ledger of Time to-day, 

And found the credits were few ! 
The debits were many and dated back, 

When reason first o'er me flew ; 
And I asked myself, with a throbbing heart, 

Are these the figures I show, 
For all the blessings which God has sent 

To hallow my life below T ? 

I reckoned the years and the gifts they brought, 

As miser counting his store ; 
I reckoned the pleasures false councils sought, — 

Abandoned forevermore : 
Remorse and sorrow and tears had dimmed 

The credits I fain would see ! 
And over the lines, the blur and stain, 

Where fadeless treasures should be ! 

Here was ambition, and love, and health, 

Friendship, honor, and pride ; 
Noble affections, of life the wealth, 

Outspreading their branches wide ! 



176 time's ledger. 

Sobriety tempered with genial cheer, — 

Charity blending her song ! 
These were the Debits of youth's New Year,- 

Whose specters now round me throng ! 

Where are the credits for these fair gifts, 

That make our lives here divine ? 
Gone as the shadow that o'er us Hits ; 

The sunbeams that round us shine : 
The broken chalice of false conceits ; 

The pleasures that dulled the brain ! 
(lone as the glamour that Hope inscribed 

With the barbed pen of pain ! 

I drew from my closet a torn scroll, — 

'Twas dim and yellow with age ; 
Item by item I conned it o'er, — 

'Twas a sad and tearful page ! 
A record it bore of New Year's Days, 

Whose lights no longer appear ; 
Of broken promises, shattered hopes, 

The pledge of each bright New Year. 

The gay companion, the reckless hour ; 

The boisterous song and bout ! 
The promptings of Duty laid aside, 

To join in the merry rout! 



ADD HESS TO THE SUN. 177 

The flowers that blossomed round boyhood's 
path, 

That made life doubly dear ! 
Plucked and flung to the greedy winds ! 

That folly should crown each year. 

Oh ! you, who squander the gifts of Life, — . 

As tho' an unending store ; 
Should ere too late its Ledger keep, — 

And over its debits pore ; 
Should credit the virtues that Heaven sends 

With kindred blessings as dear ; 
Then, then would life be happy indeed 

The joy of each bright New Year ! 



-:0: 



ADDRESS TO THE SUN. 

Unfailing font of light! Creation's first de- 
light ! 

I low rounded is your shield, thro" heaven's 
vast sapphire field ! 

Unclouded is your course ! of life and light the 
source ! 

God's agency divine, thro' which His mercies 
shines ! 
As brilliant now as at Earth's primal morn! 



17? ADDRESS TO THE SUK. 

Behind yon snow-dad hill, thro' trembling 
m and chill, 
or ardent disc appears, the glory of the 
sphere - 
How radiant yoor flight, to reach the zenith's 

height ! 
As when your saffron bloom, sped thro" chaotic 
_ orn 
To clothe the virgin groves of Paradise ! 

Before your ray divine, the orbs refuse to 

shine ! 
The - .mead and bow'r, attest ur will 

and pow'r : 
The rolling earth and sea. lay bare their breasts 

to th 
T<- catch your kindly heat, of Xarure's Laws 

the seat. 
Unstinted o'er the hoary path of Ti 1 .. 

Thro" douds fcant there, yon weave your 

_ Aden hair ! 
In amaranthine dye. that blossoms in the sky ! 
At evening, n on, and morn, your ruddy blooms 
adorn. 
.Earth and Atmosphere — t A give our 

Wing here. 
The _" Creative Will designed ! 



CHI 

oparable fire ! when will your 
In heaven"? wide - laid! how will 

splendoi - 
thou the Orb 
- 
Stupendous mystery, known bat al 
The Innni- fall tilings 



- 



CHRISTMAS MEMORIES 

O, il. 38 ein'rieS uf t: 

How vividly you rie 
Th<»" crumbled yeans 

And clouded are your skies 
The drifting sands that mark your flight. 

O'er Tune's ad! 

Bear back my heart to Christmas Xight 

Within my native land. 

Within that laud the Christmas came. 

With yew aud holly crowned : 
Around its hearth the steady flame. 

r aith was found ; 
Around its genial hoard were sung. 

The songs of other da; 
A- th : Tyrant hand e'er wrung. 

Their treasured theme of praise. 



180 CHRISTMAS MEMORIES. 

You, who, as I, have drifted here 

From that all beauteous Isle ; 
Who've drunk the rhythm of its cheer, 

And felt its kindly smile ! 
Have you forgotten days of yore, 

When warmed beneath their tire, 
You sung the song and drained the lore 

Of legendary pyre ? 

The trusted friends we parted there, 

Are they forgotten too. ? 
The tender glance of maiden fair, 

That would our own subdue ? 
Are they forgotten as the years, 

That speed o'er Time's decay. 
That as some fabled light appears, 

Then quickly fades away ? 

Have you forgotten New Year's Day, 

Its greeting and its song ? 
The trysting hall festooned and gay, 

Where met the merry throng? 
Have you forgotten daisied mead 

That knew no winter's chill ? 
Or dearer still brave manhood's creed, 

That dared the tyrant's will ? 

0, laud of smile, and tear, and sun, 
Your mem'ries are as dear, 

As when in boyhood's days you won 
My throbbing heart, sincere ; 



THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. 181 

If wish and pray'r would end the strife, 
That clouds your beauteous day, 

What glories would surround your life 
Now drifting to decay. 



-:o:- 



THE MOTHER'S LAMENT 

Here, where the slanting sunbeams, 

Brighten the scene around, 
Have they laid my heart's fond treasure. 

Under the grassy mound ; 
Here, where the sod grows greenest, 

My darling lies at rest ; 
Whose infant lips I nurtured. — 

Whose form I oft caressed ! 

Alas ! and alas ! my darling, 

How cold is thy pillow now ! 
Son of my heart's devotion, — 

Child of the polished brow ; 
No more shall I watch thy coming, — 

For death now fills thy chair ! 
And the heart that loved to greet thee 

Is filled with the mother's prayer ! 



182 the mother's lament. 

Fair were the joy's you brought me. — 

Dim are their shadows now ! 
As the cloud that chases the sunbeam 

Over the mountain's brow ! 
Thou whose voice could brighten, 

The home with joy and mirth ; 
Lies in this narrow chamber. — 

Under the cold, cold earth! 

Thou staff of an aged father, — 

Hope of declining years ; 
Your strong brave arm has left him. 

To sorrow and to tears ! 
Who shall support his footsteps, 

Thro' the years that come and go ; 
When the joy of his life is blasted, 

And his heart is filled with woe ! 

Hail ! all hail ! my loved one, 

Time in his swift career, 
Shall bear me away on his bosom — 

Where sorrow sheds no tear ! 
There where the just are gathered, 

Shall I behold your face ; 
Bright as the joys of heaven ! 

Pure as the Font of Grace ! 



winter's specters. 183 



WINTER'S SPECTERS. 

Over the river the trees appear, 

On the brink of the hill and stream; 
As watchers stricken, and pale with fear, — - 

Uncanny as Pharoah's dream ! 
The emerald sheen of their boughs is fled — 

The sunbeam that thro' them shone ; 
As the beautiful carpet, that nature spread, 

Or the song of bird, — all gone ! 

Grimly they stand, as sentinels lone, 

On the brow of the snow-clad hill ! 
Dark are the shadows around them thrown, 

The pulses that thro' them thrill ! 
The river that rolled its wave along, 

Beneath their spreading shade ; 
As broken harp-string, has ceased its song ; — 

Has crystaled the glints it made ! 

Ghastly the mar.tle beneath them spread, — 

Thro' the gloom and chill appears ! 
White as the garment that shrouds the dead ; 

The curtain that rolls the years ! 
Cold, as the ripple that stirs the wave, 

Of pity in miser's breast ! 
Cold, as the taper that lights the grave, 

Where our dearest ones find rest ! 



1S4 FOURTH OF JULY. 

Watching the spring-time that brings them 
bloom, — 

That heralds a brighter ray ! 
Waiting the textile of Nature's loom, — 

The woof of a warmer day ! 
Waiting the trill of the robin's song, — 

That flitted amid their leaves ; 
Whose nest deserted,, their boughs among, 

As sorrow, the bosom grieves ! 

Waiting as they for a fairer life, — 

We stand on earth's dreary shore ! 
Amid the crumble, and ruin, and strife, 

That winter's grim shadows pour ! 
Watching as they for the bloom and bliss, 

That heaven transmits our way; 
When our life, thro' Time, shall fade in this, 

To the light of a brighter day ! 



FOURTH OF JULY. 

What bright wreaths of glory, exultant and high 
Entwine themselves round thee, dear Fourth of 

July! 
Of all the glad days, that this fair land has seen, 
Is the much treasured Fourth, its fair sun- 
clothed queen ! 



FOURTH OF JULY. 185 

O, long may thy memories swell the pronrl 

heart, 
As sanctified Hope, may their bright arrows 

dart ! 
Inspiring the dormant, with thrills of delight, 
To cherish the promptings of freedom and 

risrht ! 



" Independence or death ! " was the motto we 
bore, 

Thro' the deep gulf of strife, and the cannon's 
loud roar ; 

" Independence or death ! " is our motto to- 
day 

When the red clouds of slaughter have drifted 
away ; 

And her future dawns bright, as the eastern 

sky, 

When the sun's crimson glories are rolling on 
high ! 

As we glance o'er the past, what wild tumults 

of joj, 
Come up from the heart for the Fourth of 

July,! 
For the heroes who battled, and died to give 

birth, 
To a nation of freemen the proudest of earth ; 



186 FOURTH OF JULY. 

For a Flag whose fair stars — as the bright orbs 

on high — 
Would figure the glories that stream thro' our 

sky! 
For the Flag that has sheltered the exile and 

slave, 
"With the ^Egis of hope, and the strength of the 

wave ! 

O, beautiful fiag, may your stars ne'er grow dim, 
Of ocean the pride, and of Freedom the hymn ! 
May thy mantle of glory, protectingly fall 
On the brave hearts of those who would rush 
at your call ! 

Hail! fair land of freedom — the Mecca of 

Hope ! — 
How clear are your vistas, how boundless their 

scope ; 
How loathed the man, who from sordid desires, 
"Would wrest from your hands the bequest of 

our sires ; 
Would crush out the manhood — that treasure 

untold — 
Of a nation that shylocks may barter in gold ; 
But the morning of hope is drawing steadily 

nigh 
And we look for its dawn as the Fourth of 

July! 



THE lovers' quarrel. 187 



THE LOVERS' QUARREL. 

X<> more I see the sun's bright beam, 

Since Dermot from my presence fled ; 
I see no more the glancing stream, 

By which our footsteps often led : 
Their light, as joy, is fled from me, 

And I am lonely with my care ; 
Oh ! cruel fate, no more to see, 

The form that mingled with my pray'r ! 

Alas! those bitter words of pride, 

What memories thro' their channels flow ; 
Of sorrow the ill-fated bride 

Thro' all the years that come and go : 
Could I recall their tenor now, 

Could I restore the broken chain ; 
The smiles of love would wreathe my brow, 

Where anguish now has penciled pain ! 

Where gone the heart that loved me so, 

That spoke in tenderest tones to me ? 
Ah ! love why did'st thou deal the blow, 

That plunged thine own in misery? 
Infectious, as the poisoned air, 

That breathes of death within the mine, 
My life must now its sorrows bear, 

Where beams of sun were wont to shine ! 



188 THE lovers' quarrel. 

I'll seek the haunts wherein we trod ; 

The trysting tree with carved names ; 
The sweet cool shade, with velvet sod, 

Where we exchanged loves' hopes and aims ! 
Along the joyous, glist'ning stream, 

Whose laughing dimples chased the sun ; 
I '11 stray with love's enchanting dream 

And twine the thread its rapture spun ! 

The rustic seat beneath the oak, 

Where shone Selene's spectral beam ! 
Where cherished love all radiant woke, 

And nature slept her perfumed dream ! 
The wooden bridge, the brawling stream, 

Whose babbling waters laughing sped ; 
Conveying our all-absorbing theme, — 

As vanished joys too quickly fled. 

You who would love some trusting heart. 

Beware of haughtiness and pride; 
Ere he, your captive, should depart, 

And link his life with gentler bride ; 
Be true to womanhood and love ; — 

The mild of heart need no new charm. 
In firm, yet gentle tones, reprove ; 

Nor at Love's absence feel alarm. 



POEMS ON IRELAND. 



ON ROBERT EMMETS SPEECH. 



DEDICATED TO THE PATRIOTIC IRISHMEN OF 
AMERICA. 



The morning broke o'er Erin's Isle 
With ros}' blush and golden smile ! 
The glow of heaven its bosom stirred, 
In tint of leaf and song of bird ; 
In waving grain and laughing rill ; 
In sinewy stream and purple hill ; 
Whose shadows frowning o'er the wave, 
A boldness to the landscape gave. 

On such a morning, sweet and calm, 
The flowers awoke from sleep of balm ! 
Poured out their perfume o'er the mead, 
Or drank the dewy crystal bead ! 
In wealth of bloom, a fairer land, 
Ne'er shone beneath Creative Hand! 



190 ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

On such a morning tyrant sway 
Thro' Dublin city took its way ; 
O'er marble bridge and ample street, 
Where loving hearts were wont to meet. 
To sit in judgment in its court, 
And toy with life in wanton sport ! 

""Accoutred soldier, neighing steed 
The trembling judge, protecting, lead; 
Behind, the measured tramp oi those, — 
Unhappy Erin's sworn foes, — 
Would guard the monster on his path, 
Against the daring hand of wrath ! 

The culprit on this fatal morn 
Was e'en from birth a freeman born ; 
Intrepid, gifted, pure, and brave, 
As ever life to freedom gave : 
His youth, and grace, his noble mein ; 
• His eagle glance, intense and keen 
Make timid hearts look up with pride, 
To one, whom Freedom sanctified ! 

The caitiff judge his seat now takes, 

In muttered words the silence breaks ; 

Regards the jury with a smile, 

That tells how short their task the while ; 

Then rests his brutal eye of crime 

On him, the hero of all time ! 



ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 191 

And, now, the culprit's crimes are read 

O'er many a sheet of paper spread : 

His crimes ! just Heaven ! that this should be, 

His crime ! the love of liberty ! 

To wrest his land from foreign sway, 

For this his life must forfeit pay. 

Judicial farce, is next begun ! 

The judge and jury think as one : 

The bloody charge condemns him ere 

The " Twelve true men " his crimes compare. 

And now a stillness reigns around, 
As tho' within some vast profound ! 
The only noise the silence stirred 
Was when some beating heart was heard. 

The moistened eye, the pallid cheek; 
The thought that would the verdict seek; 
The quiv'ring lip, the earnest glance ; 
The ever present, dread advance 
Of that false jury pledged and sold 
To take his life that day for gold ; 
Would fain give liberty and life 
To him, who now, would dare the strife. 

Amidst that ghastly throng of fear, 
One face looks undisturbed and clear ; 
One manly form, erect, and brave, 
Defies the terrors of the grave : 



192 ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

He looks the cynosure of love, 
As tho' beloved of God above ! 
In all the glow and pride of youth, — 
The reflex, and the soul of truth, 

Hark ! now a stir of feet is heard, 
And anxious hearts with fear are stirred : 
That now take in the awful scene 
Intensified in Emmet's mein ! 

At last, the " Twelve true men " appear, 
And GUILTY ! pales the heart with fear 
Unmoved, the culprit felt its force 
As thro' his brain its terrors course ; 
Unmoved he stood — a torch as bright 
As ever lit the cause of right ! 

Unmoved he stood, defiant, brave, 
As rock that dashes back the wave ! 
Unmoved he stood and fair to see, — 
The sacrifice of Liberty ! 

And now, the "Bloody Norbury," — 
The foe of God and Liberty, 
Asked Emmet what he had to say, 
Why death should not cut off his day. 

Proudly, he raised his head on high, 
Defiance flashing from his eye ! 
The black informer's perjured breath ; 
The blacker verdict breathing death ; 



ON ROBERT EMMETS SPEECH. 193 

The pliant judge, to mercy dead, 
A horrid group before him spread ! 

In that momentous hour, his form, — 

As frowning cliff, beat back the storm ; 

Refused to share one pang of fear 

With aught that life e'er held most dear : 

As priceless gems together strung, 

The cultured thought sped from his tongue ; 

In strains, whose eloquence and fire, 

Outshone the senate and the lyre ; 

In words whose rhythm shall be read, 

As long as Freedom's light is shed ! 

lie spoke of Erin's martyred dead; 

Tier woes, her chains, the pit-falls spread ; 

He spoke of England's perfidy ; 

Of her dark crimes and tyranny! 

The widow's wail the orphan's tears, 

The cruel wrongs that blurred the years ! 

Of man upon his brother set, 
With strangling hand, and dagger's whet ! 
The woeful picture darker grew, 
Which o'er the judge its shadows threw ; 
Which paled the jury sitting there, 
As tho' confronted with despair ! 
Which gave an impetus and life 
To Erin's cause in future strife ! 



194 ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

The judge, in sneering accents now. 
Reviled the cause lie dared avow ; 
Reviled the wild designs of those, 
Who would arise as England's foes, 

Sublime he rose in that dark hour, 
In words of wrath arraigned the power 
Of that repressive, cruel land, 
Against whose rule he took a stand ; 
Appealed to God, the martyred dead, 
The devastation widely spread : 
That not ambition, or renown 
Coerced his acts against its crown : 
That wide-spread misery and strife, — 
As love and justice, moved his life : 
That all his actions were as pure, 
As were the rights he would secure : 
That he who never told a lie, 
Whose pride it was for man to die : 
Whose epitaph he left to those, 
Who yet would triumph o'er his foes ; 
That to impugn his probity, 
Was consonant with tyranny, 



An interruption came once more, 
That in reproof a venom bore ; 
For scathing words fell on the ear 
Of him, who knew not pity's tear. 



ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 195 

Again the patriot's voice is heard, 
And rapture glows in every word ; 
Superb he rose, — sublime o'er all, 
That ever spoke in senate hall ! 
As tho" applause and glory hung 
On every word that passed his tongue! 

The judge's office he portrayed 

En words that seared the wounds they made ; 

He pitied him, as one accursed, 

The Caliban which England nursed ! 

Commiseration, in his soul, 

For one who feared not Heaven's control. 

Appealing! j r , he now began, 

And asked if any Irishman, 

Who loved his country, and her cans*.', 

Who hated England's cruel laws, 

To bear within his heart the glow. 

Of Liberty, thro' weal or woe. 

Again the judge in anger sore 
Refused to hear his treason more ; — 
Refused to sit in judgment there, 
Rebuked, reviled, beyond compare. 

Unawed, his words grow more intense, — 
Are poured in floods of eloquence ; 
Bright, sparkling streams whose pathos rolled 
Unstudied, keen, and uncontrolled ! 



196 ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

He claimed the tonus the law allowed 
In burning words, with spirit proud ; 
Reviewed the mock'ry and the shame 
That would ere death the spirit tame ; 
That would the lips for ever seal ; 
That would the blood of life congeal ; 
That would deny the prisoner's right, 
To bear his acts before the light ; 
Where pure and stainless as the snow 
Their purport thro' the heart would now. 
The brilliant struggle of the mind ; — 
The wealth of words, pure, unconfined, 
Sped as a torrent, headlong, bold, 
Through glowing hearts, that erst were cold. 

Lie dared aspersion on his name, 
Whose life was Freedom's highest aim ; 
The legacy he left should be, 
As free from stain as Liberty ! 

From selfish motives, selfish ends, 
To his loved country, or her friends; 
The calumny he backward flung 
In burning words of fervid tongue ! 

Compared his actions and his life 
To him, who now, upheld the knife : 
Invoked the Ruler of the spheres 
For justice thro' the future years : 



ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 191 

That his fair name, from blot, or stain, 
In Ireland's heart should e'er remain ! 

Stung to madness, and to shame, 
The cruel judge would now proclaim, 
The sentence of the venal court, 
Of blood-stained rule the grim resort! 

Unawed before the monster there, 
Who would the god-like hero dare ; 
Tlis words How faster, bolder, still, 
Than mountain torrent boding ill ; 
Tumultuous passions swell his soul, 
Whose fervor speeds beyond control ; — 
Electric, as the lightning's course, 
The t y fly exultant from their source ! 

Oblivion, shame, obliquity, 

Betrayal of land and liberty; 

Ambition's mercenary curse, 

Betrayal of fellowman, and worse; 

Betrayal of God, who lit his soul, 

With tire that brooked not man's control ! 

The mockery of trial withal; 
The sentence passed in Castle hall ; 
Ere perjured judge, or jury tried, 
The life for which their master cried ; 
All these, and more, the craven heart 
Of Norbury pierced, as barbed dart! 



198 OX ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

The coward charge was made that he, 
Of France, was an emissary ; 
That pelf and profit, self and greed, 
Composed the tenets of his creed ; 
That bartered glory, perfidy, 
Should twine around the Flew de lis. 

The ruthless charge ! how swiftly fled 
The words that thro' the chamber sped; 
His future, all, were in their fire, — 
The stainless name, the proud desire ; 
The wealth that death, to honor gave : 
The fadeless laurels of the grave ! 
Absorbing thought, the pride that he, 
Would live enshrined in Liberty! 

"• Emissary of France ! ah ! no, 
For France was never Ireland's foe ; 
Emissary of France ! how strange, 
If death should lurk amid the change. 

Ah ! no, my country's liberty 
Was wealth, and fame, and life to me; 
To change new masters for the old, 
How base the charge, untruthful, bold ! 

My idol was my country's life, 
In cloud or sunshine, death or strife ; 
Endearing wish, the heart's best thought, 
For thee my land, was pledged unsought; 



ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 199 

Exterior splendor, fair to sec- — 

The cloak that hides depravity, 

Was charged, that I in earth should rest 

Unwept, unhonored, and unblest ! " 

The conscious rectitude that gave, 
His life a bliss beyond the grave ; 
Exalted, pure, without compare, 
He stood superb in manhood there ! 
His Philippics of wrath were sped, 
As bolt that breaks the gloom o'erhead ! 
" 'Tis true, that France's aid was sought; 
'T is true, t'was given and unbought ; 
As allies they would come and go, 
When they expelled the common foe ; 
Auxiliaries in war — and then — 
Undying friends of Irishmen." 

Denunciation fierce, that he, 

Would barter Erin's liberty ! 

To foreign land be who it mio-ht, 

Ah ! no, his arm would nerve the fight ! 

And if they as invaders came, 

He'd meet their march with sword and iiame ! 

Would immolate them where they stood, 

E'en tho' the land would run with blood ! 

And if the stronger they should prove, 

Each inch of earth, each home of love, 

Would be contested, fiercely, brave, 

The last entrenchment, freedom's grave! 



200 OX ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

And what he failed, to dare, or do, 
His countrymen, he'd leave to you 

kt I wished to show the world that we, 
As Irishmen, loved liberty, 
And chafed 'neath England's tyranny. 
[ wished to gain, as Washington, 
A freedom e'en thro' carnage won ; 
I wished not for task-masters new, 
But to expel the English crew. 

You charge me with importance great, 
The chief that would emancipate, 
My country from the galling yoke 
Beneath whose weight, stout hearts are broke ! 
You do me honor, great indeed, 
But, Oh ! remember that the meed, 
Of praise belongs to men whose worth 
Would shame your own ignoble birth ; 
Before the splendor of whose light, 
Your own would sink, abashed, in night ! 
To men whose genius, high command, 
Would shrink to touch your blood stained 
hand ! " 

Once more the tyrant broke the chain 
Of eloquence that tired the brain, 
That probed the wounds the monster felt 
For sentences unpi tying dealt. 



ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 201 

Fresh impetus, his speech now takes, 
That, as the storm cloud, gath'ring breaks. 
Rebukes the tyrant, that he should 
Be answerable for all the blood, 
Of those who fell, or those who'd fall, 
In freeing their land from foreign thrall ; 
He feared not to approach anent 
The throne of the Omnipotent! 

How much less fearful should he be 
Before such foul mortality : 
AVho shed more blood, thro' savage whim, 
Than would his bloated carcass swim. 

" Let no man dare when life is past, 

Dishonor on my memory cast ; 

Let none attaint my lowly bed 

When death's dark shroud is o'er me spread ; 

Let no man charge that I should be 

Engaged in aught but liberty, 

And that unselfish, fearless, free. 

The dignity of freedom e'er, 

My aspiration and my prayer ; 

That foreign or domestic foe 

To Erin's cause from her should go ; 

E'en tho' my lifeless form should be 

The rampart of her liberty ! 

Am I who lived for Erin's cause ; 

Whose hand would strangle tyrant laws ; 



202 ox ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

Whose independence was my dream; 
Whose glory was my cherished theme :• 
Am I to sink 'neath calumny, 
The foe of man and Liberty ? 

Ah ! no, my country, God forbid ! 
The light of Freedom's never hid; 
The lifeless clay, to earth consigned, 
iSFo theme for malice leaves behind, 
But oh ! thou fadeless memory, 
Be thou enshrined in Liberty ! " 

The stream that flowed, intense and clear; 
That thrilled the heart, and rolled the tear. 
Pathetic grew, and solemn now, 
As gathering clouds o'er beauty's brow ! 
The shades of those — his father first 
In solemn tones are now addressed ; 
His sinless life, his purpose pure; 
The blessings which he would secure : 
To these illustrious shades are poured, 
With all the dreams his youth adored 
To judge his strife for Liberty, 
Unselfish, in its purity! 

Undying words, transcendent, bright, 
What floods of glory and delight, 
Have you not shed on Freedom's cause. 
Her rights, her principles, and laws; 



ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 20o 

As long; as Time unrolls his days, 
Their fervor shall enkindle praise ; 
Shall nerve the patriot's heart and hand, 
To battle for his native land ! 

As murmuring stream, thro' lonely dell, 
Mis last sweet words, in sorrow fell ; 
Devoid of anger now, they broke, 
As tho' from dream of bliss awoke! 
Not e'en the cruel Nero gave 
A brighter martyr to the grave ! 

The patience of the judge he craves, 
For he, no more, man's anger braves ;• 
The task he set, to free his name, 
From imputation's barb of shame 
lias been fought, and nobly won, — 
As fair as beam of rising sun ! 

His blood congealed ? ah! no it streams, 

As bright and clear as ruby's gleams ! 

Unruffled, as the morning's wing, 

It flows exultant from its spring ! 

The artificial terrors there 

Xo longer enter in his care ! 

For swifter, truer than the dart 

Its rosy currents wreathe the heart ! 

A last request he now would crave, 
Ere he would turn him to the grave ; 



204 ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 

That, as they dare not vindicate 
The cause for which he bows to fate ; 
That uninscribed his tomb should rest, 
Till other times, -with men more blest, 
Would dare do justice to his name, 
And bear it down on scroll of fame! 
" Till then my country not till then, 
My epitaph be writ by men ! " 

At last the mighty effort ends, 
Whose eloquence all else transcends; 
As brilliant as the morning star, 
It speeds its light o'er earth afar ! 

Since that dark day, thro' all the years, 
Its words are read to listening ears : 
Its maxims deep, and pure, and brave. 
Have lit the gloom of patriot's grave ! 
Than his exists no brighter name 
Within the storied niche of fame ! 
Than his exists no purer lite, — 
~No braver heart in Freedom's strife. 

His epitaph! the burning thought! 
Has writ it on the heart unsought ; 
As long as Freedom's voice shall roll, 
Its fcrror shall Inspire the soul ! 
Effacing touch of Time's decay, 
Will wear the mighty rock away, 



ON ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH. 205 

But fervid words of Freedom, pure, 
Will thro'' the ages live secure ! 

Not Quintius Curtius, who of old, 

Obeyed the mandate fate foretold ; 

To save proud Rome from wrath and woe 

Plunged headlong in the gulf below ! 

Not e'en Agraulus, braver still, 

Obeyed the fates unchanging will ; 

To save her country's fair renown, 

From Acropolis Hung her down ! 

Than he to wealth and culture bred, 

With earth's fair glories round him spread; 

To give his life, its joys, its all, 

To free his land from foreign thrall. 




200 LAST HOURS OF ROBERT EMMET. 



LAST HOURS OF ROBERT EMMET. 

The cold narrow dungeon, dark, dismal, and 

bare ; 
As tho' the last refuge of grief stricken care ; 
The dull clanking chain, rings its notes ©f 

despair, 

To heighten the gloom ! 

Within this dark prison a form appears, 

As fair as the glories that blossom our years ! 

A form as hallowed by Liberty's tears, 

As Freedom e'er mourned ! 



'Tis his last night on earth, yet his pulses beat 

high ; 
And as star in the ether the gleam of his eye ! 
miands that a victim si 
To anchor her reign ! 



But England demands that a victim should die, 



Is it dread of the scaffold that startles him 

now ? 
Is it fear of the headsman that pales his fair 

brow ? 
Ah ! no, 'tis the love-dream — the fair maiden's 

vow — 

That thrills thro' his breast ! 



LAST HOURS OF ROBERT EMMET. "207 

"Was it needy adventure, the false love of fame. 
That bore his young life to this prison of shame ? 
Ah ! no, 'twas a loftier, holier aim, 

The freedom of man ! 

Of woman beloved, by his country adored, 
His beautiful mind with each virtue was stored ; 
To the high crest of freedom his bright spirit 
soared, 

For country and race ! 

Does the dull fateful sound of the hammer 

bring fear ? 
Does memory recall from her treasures a tear ? 
Ah ! no, for the martyr to Liberty dear, 
S.eeks glory in death ! 

Did Tyranny's heel ever grind him to earth? 
Did lordling e'er toy with his sorrows in mirth ? 
Ah ! no, a bright future shone over his birth, 
If false to his kind ! 

The morning breaks drear o'er that dark dis- 
mal street ; 
The grim preparations for death are complete, 
But rectitude's promptings inspire him to 
meet, 

Its terrors with pride ! 



208 IRELAND. 

The blood of the martyr to liberty cries ! 
The dark crimson stains on the morning; arise ! 
The bright earnest soul thro' the blue arching 
skies ; 

Speeds pure to its God ! 

Will grief stricken Erin build Emmet a tomb, 
As fair as the lily that brightens her bloom ? 
Ah ! no, until Freedom shall startle her gloom 
His name " uninscribed ! " 



IRELAKD. 



DEDICATED TO REV. J. F. LOWERY. 



This beautiful land how fair and bright, 
Are all its treasures of love and light, — 
The glistening tints of its verdure show 
How rich is the soil that lies below ; 
The beautiful wild flowers, sweet and fair, 
That gem the meadow or scent the air, 
Invite the bee with their perfumed breath, 
As the blossomed furze, or the purple heath 
The murmuring streams that wider grow, 
Are clear as crystal that gleams below, — 



IRELAND. 209 

Are fair as vision of light and love 
That breaks on the soul from the Throne above \ 
The hills and the mountains, the eyes behold. 
Reflect the colors of green and gold, — 
Xow fling their shadows across the blue 
That glows in the flush of their purple hue ; 
The skirits of wild-wood, where lovers' words, 
Are hushed in the joyous song of birds ; 
The waving fields of golden grain, 
That mellow the tints of the verdant plain ; 
The glens that echo the cuckoo's song, 
Are sweet as the notes they would prolong ; 
The ruined castle and fane, that keep 
Their lonely watch o'er the craggy steep ; 
The Danish rath and Round Tower gray, 
That slowly crumble neath Time's decay ; 
The Bay and River, the Field and Wood 
Are marvels of beauty beside the flood! 
Delighted, the eye sees everywhere 
The beauties of nature sublime and fair. 

Are the beings happy that here reside ? 
Are their joys as full as their swelling tide ? 
Favored of God, they must needs be blest, 
As their lovely land, by the waves caressed; 
The theme of the poet's sweetest song, 
That flows as its stream, serene, along. 

Ah ! no, the beings whose homes are here, 
Tho' true to the instincts of love and cheer, — 



210 IRELAND. 

Tho' fair as the morning that tints the sky, 
Or bold as the eagle that soars on high ; 
Are bondsmen and slaves to a tyrant band, 
That fatten as vultures on their fair land ; 
Greedy and cruel their lives have been, 
As the locusts that settle upon the green ; 
[Tnpitying monsters that claim the earth, 
And its myriad toilers, their right by birth ; 
Who squander the fruits, of the poor man's toil 
As tho' some geni had plowed the soil. 

The cruel Eviction ! Of woes the worst ; — 
The sport of demons, of God accurst, — 
The foulest blot on the face of earth ! 
Foul as the tyrant that gave it birth : 
A blot that smirches the laws of God, 
That scourges the soul, as an iron rod ; 
That drives the toiler, — stout hearted, brave, 
To desperate deeds or a pauper's grave ; 
That snaps the ties of the heart and home, 
As surge that breaks into ocean foam. 
And thus is this laud, supremely blest, 
The fairest gem on the ccean's breast, 
Ground 'neath the heel of Oppression's might. 
That sets his standard in gloom of night ; 
Thus is this laud whose teeming fields 
Bend 'neath the weight, that their culture 

yields ; 
Cursed with a blight, whose fetid breath 
Sweeps o'er their face, as a thing of death ! 



evelyn's hair. 211 

Thus are its children, to woes allied, 
Driven to battle with fortune's tide ; 
Driven to battle with fortune's wave, 
For the toiler's crust, and a foreign grave. 
But Time, the healer of grief and woe, 
Is forging his bolts for her cruel foe. 



:o:- 



EYELYN'S HAIR, 

Long, long, years ago, when the sky-lark was 
singing, 
And nature responsive, awoke to his trill ; 
When the primrose, as joy, from the green sod 
was springing, % 

And the hawthorn bloomed at the foot of 
the hill ; 
T strayed with my Eva, to cull each fair blos- 
som, 
That bloomed in the meadow, or scented the 
air ; 
To twine a fair garland, to wear in her bosom, 
Or fflow in the bands of her dark raven hair. 



212 evelyn's hair. 

The blue-bell was plucked, with its perfume 
delicious; 
The harebell aiid crocus, that grew in the 
dell ; 
The fox-glove's red plume, and the daisy, capri- 
cious, 
Fn sweet scented glories 'neath Love's fingers 
fell ; 
The violet fair, as the hue of the morning; 

The rose-tinted clover, inwoven with care ; 
The shamrock entwined, their gay beauties 
adorning 
The dark silken sheen of my Evelyn's hair. 



We clambered the rocks where the dust rooted 
mosses, 
In Friendship's embraces, shone golden and 
clear ; 
We sought the ravine, where the eglantine 
crosses 
The ivy-clad oak, and the larch ever dear : 
The glassy green leaves of the holly gave warn- 
ing, 
That their spiny clad fringe was protected 
with care, 
That tho' their bright glints, gave the wood 
its adorning, 
They'd never repose in my Evelyn's hair. 



Evelyn's hair. 213 

The sweet scented knoll where the strawberry 
glistened, 
With the pearls of the morning surrounding 
its glow ; 
Where grief stricken Echo ! * in weariness lis- 
tened, 
And gave back our song, thro' her sad tale 
of woe ! 
Where the Cromlech's weird structure awoke 
our alarm ! 
Whilst the briar and the ivy encircled it 
there ; 
Where I plucked the white bloom — a sweet 
scented charm, — 
To gleam 'mid the coils of my Evelyn's hair. 

Thro' the gold-blossomed furze, and the purple 
dyed heather, 
Upward, still upward, we wended our way; 
To the rath of the fairies, we journeyed to- 
gether, 
Oblivious of toil, or the sun's scorching ray! 



* Echo (according to mythology) was a daughter of the 
Earth and the Air. She fell in love with the beautiful boy 
Narcissus, who, in turn, was so enamored of his own reflect- 
ed image in the water, that he cried himself to death because 
he saw no creature as beautiful as himself. Of Echo nothing 
remained but a mere sound. 



214 evely'n's hair. 

Before us outstretching, the valley and river : 
The green skirited woodland, as beauteous 
and fair, 
As the beams of the morning, whose ecstasies 
quivered, 
Thro' the dark glossy bands of my Evelyn's 
hair ! 



Where the blue of the sky, kissed the blue of 
the ocean ; 
Where Nature reposed, as a glory supreme, 
And, I said to my fair one, with tears of emo- 
tion, 
" This, Eva, Olf ! this, is the Irishman's dream ! 
Tho' I love thee, my darling, with heart throbs 
as warm, 
As ever devo*tion awoke in the breast, 
Yet, from the loved prize would I fly in alarm, 
Ere traitorous heart against mine would be 
pressed. 

" Ah ! fair one who'd wed him — the slave fet- 
tered minion — 
Who sees his fair land in the grasp of the foe ; 
Thro' havoc and death, as the raven's dark 
pinion, 
Would his life and his acts sink forever in 
woe ! 



Evelyn's hair. 215 

No, never, fair Eva, would mine be the token, 
That serfdom demands at the hands of Des- 
pair ! 
Oh rather the point of my sword should be 
broken , — 
To gleam 'mid the braids of my Evelyn's 
hair!" 

Tho' long years have sped since that morning 
elysian, 
Its mem'ries awakened, bring heart throbs 
and sighs ! 
Its fond dreams of freedom, of love, and ambi- 
tion, 
Gone, gone, as the pulses that bade them 
arise. 
?sear the woody-crowned hill, where the laurel 
and willow, 
Fling their shadows of gloom o'er the cool 
balmy air, 
With the grave as a shroud and the earth as a 
pillow, 
Lie the fair face and glories, of Evelyn's hair ! 



216 liberty's martyrs. 



LIBERTY'S MARTYRS. 



DEDICATED TO WM. BRIEN. 



Thro' the long gloomy years of oppression and 
wrong, 
That have SAvept over Erin in sorrow, 
Unbroken her pride, as her wild swelling song, 
That awaits the bright dawn of her morrow; 
Tho' the lights that have risen in darkness go 
down, 
In the noon of their splendor and glory : 
Their devotion to freedom shall wreathe them 
a crown, 
Unpurchased and bright as their story ! 

The trusted and tried who have gone to their 
rest, 

Amid the wild grief of a nation, 
Enkindle their light in the wavering breast, 

That in time becomes freedom's oblation ; 
From the slain of her cause, fresh victims arise, 

Inspired by the fervor that swayed them ; 
As brave as the eagle that pierces the skies, — 

Obeying the Spirit that made them ! 



liberty's martyrs. 217 

Imprison and banish the patriot brave, 

Whose deeds have inspired man's devotion, 
Their' lives are as light, that illumines the 
wave, — 

That breaks o'er eternity's ocean ! 
Dishonor and shame to the guilty belong, 

The chain, and the gyve, and the prison ; 
To the lovers of freedom sweet Liberty's song, 

From hearts that to manhood have risen ! 

O, England, how blind to the future art thou ; 

The vile slave of hatred and malice ; 
Dost see the dark clouds that encircle your 
brow, 

That float o'er your gilt, brimful chalice ? 
Tear the garb of the man from the free limbs 
in shame, 

With every vile creature surround him ; 
The love of a nation will hallow his name, — " 

Its glories shall centre around him ! 



218 TULLAMORE. 



TULLAMORE. 

Henceforth, historic Tullamore, 

How quick to fame you've risen ! 
'T is strange we never knew before 

You had so strong a prison ; 
Within its damp, cold, fetid walls 

Brave Erin's sons are lying ; 
That erstwhile trod Westminster's lialls- 

The Saxon foe defying. 

We cry thee shame ! eternal shame ! 

If that thou know'st its meaning: 
Historic page records no name 

With darker edicts teeming ! 
The seeds of strife that you have sown 

Will grow Briareus round you : 
Will raze to earth your sinking throne, 

In gloom and death surround you ! 

The Avatar of crime and wrong- 
That heads your revolution, 

Will be the first to sink among 
Its chaos and confusion ; 



TULLAMORE. 219 

The hated Balfour — godless, cold — 

To human instincts sleeping, 
Shall meet the tyrant's doom of old, 

In vengeance o'er him sweeping! 

Insensate fool ! your acts will ne'er 

Make Irish hearts less pliant; 
The more they're crushed, the more they dare — 

Unbending and defiant; 
You've tried the gibbet and the ax, 

The pitch-cap and the prison ; 
And yet as fair as blue-eyed flax 

Their flow'rmg deeds have risen ! 

Expatriation, famine, death — 

The wide-spread desolation, 
Miasmi-c, as foul odors' breath 

Have swept the Irish nation ; 
From age to age the alien foe, 

Unmerciful, unfeeling ; 
Has plunged in death and strife and woe 

The beauteous land of Erin ! 

In foreign courts, your name to day, 

Is theme for mirth and scorn ; 
Uncanny fears obscure your day, 

And cloud your fairest morn ; 
Uneasy rests your hoary head 

( Upon the downy pillow, 
Whilst grinning phantoms round you tread, 

As startling; as the billow ! 



220 TULLAMORE. 

Ave ! count your gains — collect your dead 

In ghastly mounds around you ; 
Collect the Irish blood you've shed, 

That as a sea surrounds you ! 
Upon the hoary page of Time — 

The record of the nations — 
A ghastlier one, than yours, of crime 

Ne'er blurred its swift mutations. 

Your deeds of wrong — what have they brought ? 

Have honor, fame, and glory, 
Sped o'er the horrors you have wrought, 

That time should breathe your story ? 
Are Erin's sons less true to-day — 

Less hopeful and defiant, 
Than when they met you in the fray — 

In Freedom's cause reliant? 

Too well you know the task is vain. 

The Irish brain ne'er slumbers; 
As Israelite 'neath Egypt's reign, 

They multiply in numbers ! 
The Fiery Pillar — Freedom's gauge — 

Shall yet in light surround them ; 
Shall drape in gloom the blood-writ page, 

With which your laws have bound them. 



THE FRIENDS OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS. 2^1 



THE FRIENDS OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS. 

Where, where, are they departed, the friends 

of boyhood's days ? 
Where gone the song and merry jest that rang 

their rounds of praise ? 
Where gone the gathering on the hill, that 

dared the foeman's steel ? 
Where gone the secret and the hope, that death 

would ne'er reveal ? 
Alas, those rosy days of youth, as summer's 

joys, are tied, 
And faithful hearts that culled their bloom are 

numbered with the dead; 
Some in their native Erin sleep, the theme of 

poet's lays ; 
Some rest unmarked in foreign graves, the 

friends of boyhood's days. 

Unselfish dreams of boyhood's days, where lie 

the hopes you nursed ? 
Where lie the glory and the pride that thro' 

vour channels burst ? 



222 THE FRIENDS OF BOYHOOD'S DAYS. 

Where lie the sacrifice and zeal, that marked 
their earnest flow ? 

Alas, they're gone, as are the years, or friends 
of long ago ! 

Oh ! fearless deeds of boyhood's days, how dar- 
ing and how bold ; 

How reckless of the future years, its honors and 
its gold ; 

Gone as the light of setting sun, with all his 
fiery rays, 

The true of heart, the brave of hand, — the 
friends of boyhood's days. 

The cause that fired your youthful hearts, Oh ! 
whither has it fled ? 

Has this, like thee, a refuge found, among the 
noble dead ? 

Has this like thee, in sorrow slept, uncrowned 
with Freedom's hays,, 

As aimless, as the exile's life, or hopes of boy- 
hood's da} T s ? 

You wise of head and cold of heart, frown not 
at boyhood's dreams, 

As is the boy, so is the man, thro' life's con- 
tending streams ; 

The follies that you see in him, but wiser make 
your ways, 

But, Oh ! give me the noble hearts, — the friends 
of bovhood's days. 



THE EXILE'S LAST GAZE. 223 

Companions of the merry rout, brave comrades 

of the past ; 
What memories rush adown the years, where I 

beheld you last ; 
What broken hearts, what vanished joys, as 

burning ember's blaze, 
That glows the brighter as it dies, — as friends 

of boyhood's days. 
But tho' the past be dimmed with tears, it 

brings its pleasures too, 
For noble deeds that decked its life, the future 

brings to you, 
The sacrifice that freemen make will fructify 

and raise 
The noble thought, the burning wish, — as those 

of boyhood's days ! 



THE EXILE'S LAST GAZE. 



Air : — "My Lodging is on the Cold Ground." 



As I gazed from the deck of the fast speeding- 
ship, 
That bore me from Ireland away, 
And saw my fair land thro' the waves sullen 
drip, 
That flecks each dear inlet and bay: 



224 the exile's last gaze. 

A feeling of sadness crept over my heart, 
As the orphan that bends o'er the grave, 

Who sees a loved mother forever depart 
On the breast of Eternity's wave. 

In that sad, lonely hour, what memories arise ; 

What yearnings well up from the heart ; 
The fond dreams of youth, their sweet pleasures 
and joys, 

That bade every sorrow depart ; 
Evanished forever on Time's fleeting wing, 

Deceitful, alluring, and bright, 
The mirage of Hope, — and of beauties that 
spring 

Into light, and then vanish in night. 

A faint* light is seen o'er the wave's foamy 
crest, 

As the twilight is deepening the gloom,* 
'Tis the last ray of hope, and of Erin the blest, 

That nickers o'er Liberty's tomb : 
With a deep, choking sob, fraught with sorrow 
and pain, 

And a feeling of hopeless unrest ; 
I ask my lone heart, will it ever again 

Press the fond friends of youth to its breast. 

* The Fastnet light. 



ERIN GO BRAGII. 225 

The dec}) surging wave, now hides from my 
gaze, • 
The last glimpse of Erin and home ; 
And the P^xile is parted thro' life's weary days 
From the scenes where his youth loved to 
roam ; 
From the haunts of his boyhood, his manhood, 
his all, 
To wander a stranger o'er earth, 
With never a hope for a distant recall 
To the beautiful land of his birth. 



ERIN GO BRAGH! 



Air : — "Exile of Erin." 



How many wild songs, breathing tearful emo- 
tion, 
Have swept o'er the harp-strings of Erin's 
sad lay ! 
How many brave lives have enkindled devotion, 
That freedom and glory should brighten her 
day ! 



2->l) ERIN GO BRAG II. 

But Time's fateful years, have but deepened 
her sorrow; 

Have blighted the hopes that would dawn on 
her morrow ; 

But manhood aroused, retribution would bor- 
row, 
To cancel the deep debt of Erin go Bragh ! 



The dark, cruel reign of her ruthless oppressor; 

His red years of conquest, how far, far away ! 

'Gainst heaven, and freedom, and man, the 

transgressor, 

Provokes God's dire anger at no distant day ! 

Homeless, oppressed, in the fair land that bore 

him ; 
Vengeance and wrath surging wildly before 

him ! 
The brave Celtic heart would to manhood re- 
store him ; 
Would wreathe Freedom's chaplet for Erin 
go Bragh ! 



I care not false land, how soon your extinction. 

Whose merciless sceptre, — unpitying gave, 
To Liberty's heroes, — of man the distinction — 

The dark felon's cell, and the patriot's grave ; 



A JUBILEE SCENE TN BANTRY BAY. 227 

As long as the Tide rolls its swell thro' the 

ocean ; 
As long as this fair earth is true to her motion ; 
So long shall the Irishman's love and devotion, 
Entwine themselves round thee, dear Erin go 
Bragh ! 

Courage! brave hearts, sing the sad song no 
longer, — 
The whir*e and the love-note are heard from 
the slave ; 
The years in their flight, leave the tyrant less 
stronger, 
As Liberty speeding o'er Tyranny's wave ! 
Arise, for your hour of redemption is nearing ! 
Arise, for the sky over Erin is clearing! 
Arise, for your thraldom is fast disappearing ! 
When Liberty's mantle clothes Erin go 
Braffh ! 



:<>:- 



A JUBILEE SCENE IN BANTRY BAY. 



The dear old Flag of Erin, as sun-burst lit the 

air ; 
Its silken folds, as waves of green, shone out in 

glor\' there ; 



228 A JUBILEE SCENE IN BANTRY BAY. 

The hearts that gave it freedom, a transient 

rapture feel, 
That, as sweet chords of music, across their 

bosom steal. 
Historic Bay of Bantry, how proudly swells 

your tide ; 
Whose deep blue wave caresses the land on 

either side ; 
From Castletown Berehaven, to Whiddy's fair 

green Isle, 
Your lordly tide is breaking, in many a sunny 

smile ! 

See yonder frowning man-of-war that darkly 

sits the wave, 
She floats false England's Triple Cross, that 

marks fair Freedom's grave ! 
Within the glories of that bay, her darkened 

shadow looms, 
From glen and crag re-echoing, her demon can- 
non booms ; 
As merciless as death is she, upon that glinting 

swell, 
From which the heart in dread recoils, as Purity 

from hell ! 
Her watchful captain, from the poop, the green 

old flag espies, 
Whose sunlit folds in battle waved, where many 

a Saxon lies. 



A JUBILEE SCENE IN BANTRY BAY. 229 

" Man, man the boats, brave Britons ! tear down 
that flag; of green ! 

Let none but England's colors upon this bay 
be seen : 

The right of Conquest and of Might, for seven 
hundred years ! 

Is ours to-day, where none assails, our jubilee 
of tears ! " 

In fancy I am there once more upon that bound- 
ing swell, 

Where many a time thro' snowy foam our gal- 
lant boat sped well; 

In fancy I am there once more with hearts us 
brave and true, 

As ever rolled the crystal spray upon the Avaters 
blue. 

Tho' many years have passed since when, we 

dared that gallant tide; 
The brave young hearts that plowed its breast, 

are scattered far and wide ; 
The brave young hearts to Freedom pledged, 

resurgent, as its wave, 
Have drifted aimless from its shores to find a 

foreign grave ! 
Oh ! bitter memories of the past your shadows 

come and go ! 
An avalanche of hate and wrath that wreathes 

the heart in woe : 



230 Ireland's devotion and destiny. 

All Patient Ruler of the Earth, how long must 

England's sway, 
Obscure the Freedom that would light, thy 

shores, sweet Bantry Bay. 



-:o: 



IRELAND'S DEVOTION AND DESTINY 



DEDICATED TO THE A. 0. H. AND READ AT THEIR 
BANQUET HELD AT COHOES, MARCH 17tH, 1888. 



Cead Milk Malta, — children of the Gael, 

United Brothers of Green Innisfail ; 

Our warmest greeting, genial as her light, 

Thro' toast and song, is gladly yours to-night : 

Proverbial welcome, fruitful as her fields, 

Our hearts to-night, with joyous pleasure yields ; 

As tho' assembled in her halls of pride, 

Ere foreign foe, had claimed her as his bride. 

On this great day, to Erin ever dear, — 
The fairest one that blossoms in her year ; 
Resurgent glories from the grave of Time, 
Her exiled sons, invoke in every clime ; 
As well beneath the Tropic's scorching ray, 
As near the Arctic's, long, Cimmerian day ; 



Ireland's devotion and destiny. 281 

As warmly where, the Clyde and Mersey run, 
As where the Tiber greets a brighter sun ; 
As sweet and tender, where the Hudson twines. 
As where the Lee with Ocean wave combines ; 
As proud and hopeful, where St. Lawrence 

glides, 
As where the Shannon seeks Atlantic's tides ; 
As brave, defiant, where the Liffey rolls, 
As where the Thames its muddy wave controls ; 

Perfected union of a mighty whole, 
How sweet the chords that thrill the Irish soul ! 
In every land their joyous clangs are rung! 
In every clime their treasured notes are sung ! 
From far Australia, to the Polar Sea, — 
Wherever Man asserts his dignity ; 
There does the burning word of Ireland plead, 
For ruth and justice for his its land and creed ; 
In senate hall its earnest voice is raised, 
Thro' kindling hearts its Phillipics are blazed ! 
Swift, as the bolts, that pierce the inky sky, 
Its fervor rolls, as thunder from on high ! 
Fierce as the eagle speeding on his prey ; 
Bright as the beam that heralds in the day ! 
The ever present, all-absorbing theme 
Of race and land evokes the exile's dream ! 

Let's take the hand of Mem'ry for awhile, 
And journey back, in thought, to Erin's Isle; 



'2o-2 Ireland's devotion and destiny. 

Thro' haunts of pleasure, scenes of boyhood's 

days, 
Where love and friendship, kindled joy and 

praise ; 
Thro' wood and dell, o'er sunny glade and hill • 
By stream and river, — dear to Freedom's 

thrill— 
Amid the ruins of historic past, 
Ere tyrant shadows o'er their walls were cast ; 
Across the heath, where martyred heroes bled, 
Beside the graves which mark our kindred 

dead ; 
Along the shore which brightened to the swell, 
Whose silver spray upon its bosom fell ; 
Thro' all the haunts to youth's bright morning 

dear ; 
Among the friends that claimed affection's tear ■ 
Let us in thought, on this auspicious night 
Once more review the home of youth's delight; 
Repair at morning, where the dewy bead, 
In crystal glories sparkled o'er the mead ; 
'Mid spring's sweet flowers, bright with song 

of day, 
To bear the Shamrock in our hearts away ! 

Symbol of Ireland's unity of soul, 
Thy trefoil leaves our wayward will control ; 
Bring back our purpose, to that God-like creed, 
That from one stem, Devotion's law should 
lead ! 



Ireland's devotion and destiny. 238 

As pure and holy, sanctified and blest, 

As when our Saint the pagan host addressed ! 

As pure and holy, sanctified and fair, 

As when God's light their souls illumined there ! 

Deep in our hearts the Shamrock's leaves shall 
twine, 

With Freedom's purpose, earnest, and divine ! 

Shall crown our faith that Ireland's cause ere 
long. 

Shall beam resurgent, as her treasured song! 

Shall fill with joy, her children long oppressed, 

With woes un-numbered, and with hearts de- 
pressed ; 

Shall rive the bondage, other griefs, and pains ; 

And bind the tyrant with his own dark chains ! 

As Ishmael's sons our race has multiplied, — 
Mas nursed the hopes, for which our fathers 

died ; 
Has borne the woes of Ireland o ? er the wave, 
As kindling embers, fresh from Freedom's 

grave ! 
Has moulded thought within this mighty land ; 
And shown the blood-drops on the tyrant's 

hand ! 
Has sped the message, — fearful in its wrath — 
A frowning menace, in his crimson path ! 



234 Ireland's devotion and destiny. 

Creative wish, that blossoms in the soul ! 
Coercive laws, thy ivill, can ne'er control ; 
Thy parent Freedom! gleaming from on high! 
As morning 's light, illumes her clouded sky ! 

To-night thy beam, within our hearts is lit; 
In burning words, thy earnestness, is writ ; 
Across the main, responsive to thy thrill, 
The voice of Erin would inspire us still ; 
Would nerve our hearts, to meet her dawn of 

light, 
That as God Ikes! shall 'penetrate her night. 

Within this land, historic, great, and free, 

~No truer hearts, than thine for liberty ; 

jNo braver arm, no warmer bosom bled, 

When cloud and menace o'er its tace were 
spread. 

From Ramillies field, to Gettysburg — fair 
Fame, 

Records the glories of the Irish name ; 

From Linden's plain, where Sarsfield's life- 
blood flowed, 

To Fredericksburg, you've trod the hero's 
road ! 

Unstinted, as the Morning's stream of light, 

You've shed your blood, in Freedom's crimson 
fi>ht ! 



Ireland's devotion and destiny. 235 

And yet, the brawling braggart would disown, 
Your tireless effort to set free your own, 
Whose faith undying, as the stars o'erhead, 
Would sink in glory, where her flag is spread ! 
Who stemmed the torrent of the German lines, 
Where Boyne's fair water to the Ocean twines ; 
Whose brave, stout arms, at Lim'riek and 

Benburb, 
Thro' blood and slaughter, did the Saxon curb ; 
Whose creed of freedom, bright, butyetunwon, 
From martyred sire, bequeaths to vengeful son ! 

All-trusting race, how faithful and how true, 
The noble instincts which we draw from you; 
From that fair land of suffering and woe, 
Whose tears unstinted thro' the ao-es flow ! 
What grace and manhood, energy and pride, 
Have sunk beneath the tyrant's bloody tide ! 
Whose crimes have stained the centimes that roll, 
As gouts of blood upon the guilty soul. 

But we to-night record a solemn vow, 

Before high Heaven to wreathe the tyrant's 

brow, 
With keener anguish than he ever dealt; 
With deeper wounds than Erin ever felt ! 
Until our land all beauteous as the morn 
Shall ocean's breast, a radiant gem adorn. 



2S6 MY NATIVE LAND. 



MY NATIVE LAND. 

Where rolls the fair light of the morning, 

Away from the shadows of night ; 
Where glints the bright dew on the flow'r-cup, 

And the streamlet Hows on in delight ; 
Where the birds in their transports awaken 

The grove with their ecstatic thrill ; 
Where the pine-tops with zephyrs are shaken, 

And the purple heath waves on the hill ; 

Where the bee hums her song thro' the clover, 
A drowsy and murmuring refrain ; 

Where the fox-glove and hare-bell are blowing 
Their colors to brighten the plain ; 

Where the meadow's brown grasses are droop- 
ing* 
Awaiting the scythe, bright and keen ; 

Where the golden-haired barley is waving, 
And the children play loud on the green : 

Where the daisy and blue-bell are springing, 
From the shamrock close pressed to their 
stems ; 

Where Nature's bright glories are singing 
Her resonant echoes in hymns; 



MY NATIVE LAND. 237 

Where the air is as pure as its maidens, 

Unladen by sickness or pain ; 
Where the sun loves to linger in summer 

Ere crossing the western main. 

And this was the home of my childhood, 

The fair land of mountain and stream — 
The beautiful gem of the ocean — 

Of minstrels the pride and the dream ; 
The land of brave men and fair women; 

The theme of the poets' sweet songs ; 
The " Holiest Island " of nations, 

Ere Freedom had treasured her wrongs. 

From this beautiful land was I banished 

Across the wide western wave, 
To a land whose brave sons raised their banner 

Triumphant o'er Tyranny's grave ; 
From this beautiful land was I parted, 

With heart deeply surging with hate, 
Rebellious, revengeful, defiant, 

Awaiting the vengeance of Fate 

Awaiting the hour of her franchise, 

Deferred through the centuries past ; 
Awaiting the joy of the nations, 

That Erin found freedom at last ; 
Awaiting the tyrant's debasement, 

When her tottering throne shall decay. 
And the Babylon crimes of her power, 

As that city, shall crumble away. 



238 7-OVE OF LAND. 



LOVE OF LAND. 

Where would the Irish exile die ? 
Where do his aspirations lie ? 
To where his thoughts forever fly, 

To Ireland ! 

Where did his heart's hest hopes remain 
Ere crossing o'er the trackless main ? 
For whom does England forge her chain ? 

For Ireland ! 

Whose heart is ever in the cause 

Of manhood's rights and freedom's laws? 

Whose soul an inspiration draws 

For Ireland ? 

Tis he whose wrongs to heaven have cried ; 
Whose race for native land has died ; 
Whose faith and manhood have been tried 

For Ireland ! 

What land will yet to Freedom rise 
With golden harp, 'neath sunny skies ? 
'T is she of earth the paradise, 

Fair Ireland ! 



LOVE OF LAND. 239 

What land a warmer glow inspires ; 
Whose song of glory never tires ; 
Whose fingers touched the sweetest lyres ? 

'T was Ireland ! 

What land is nerving for the blow, 
Whose might shall lay the tyrant low; 
'T is thine, false England's sworn foe, 

Brave Ireland. 

What land is that, that would her save ; 
Whose protests speed across the wave ; 
Whose valor dug false England's grave 

For Freedom ? 

T is she, the Eagle of the West 

Who opes for Ireland's sons her breast; 

Who drove the Tyrant from her nest, 

A Free Land ! 

The Sunburst, with the Blue Flag streams, 
In glinting folds of starry beams — 
Protecting as the sun that gleams 

O'er Ireland ! ■ 

How soon their union shall delight 
The sons of Freedom and of right, 
When England's star shall sink in night 

'Neath Ireland I 



240 AN IRISH exile's jubilee ode. 



AN IRISH EXILE'S JUBILEE ODE. 



dedicated to queen victoria. 



Fifty years of British Rule, 

Shout the triumph to Cabul ! 

Fifty years of queenly reign ; — 

Shout the anthem o'er the main ! 

From Albion's coast to far Cathay, 

Kneel the nations ! kneel and pray ! 

Great is England's queen, and blest, 

Broad her shield, and fair her crest! 

Freedom 'neath her scepter lies, 

With shackled hands, and blood shot eyes 

Fifty years of land-lord strife ; 
Fifty years of wasted life ; 
Fifty years where Famine swept ; 
Fifty years where Justice slept ; 
Fifty years on Patience fed ; 
Fifty years where bullets sped ; 
Fifty years where patriots bled ; 
Fifty years of woe and dread ; 
Fifty years where prisons gaped ; 
Fifty years of Freedom draped ; 



AN IRISH EXILE'S JUBILEE ODE. 241 

Fifty years of buckshot reign ; — 
Shout the anthem o'er again ! 
Liberty ! for what ? For whom ? 
We've dag her grave, with ample room, 
For Erin's sons, if they but dim 
The splendor of her diadem ; 
For fifty years her sceptre meek, 
Has helped the strong against the weak ! 

Ye crook'd-kneed slaves, down, down, and sing 

Your fulsome song, see what we bring, 

The dazzling pageant, bright of sheen, 

To shout the virtues of our queen ! 

Prolific mother, great and good, 

As ever reared a hungry brood ; 

For fifty years her care has been 

To strip your purses of their sheen ; 

For -fifty years her parent breast 

Has ached, to see her darlings blest, 

To tax, and grind, with threat and frown, 

That they should wear some beggar's crown ; 

That from your pockets should be rung 

Their golden chains, with diamonds strung ; 

Then shout the mother and the queen, 

Who dug the trench of Skibbereen ! ! ! 

Whose darling Albert ! dead, alas ! 

Would feed the Irishman on grass ! 

The wide, deep pit, that famine gave 

To Irish valor for a o;rave, 



24iJ AN IRISH exile's jubilee ode. 

Was dug, that Albert's coward crest, 
Should in mausoleum proudly rest. 
For fifty years her laws have sent 
Three millions to this continent ! 
The least of whom, more prized than he, 
In God's superb economy ! 
Two millions more 'neath Ireland's sky, 
Thro' Famine's pangs, forever lie ! ! ! 

Shout! lusty throat of Ireland, shout! — 
Ring, ring your hymn of triumph out; 
Great indeed has been your boon, 
On this bright, fair day in June. 
Out upon the level green, 
Sing the glories of your queen ; 
Out upon the mountain's side ; 
Swell the anthem far and wide ; — 
Unhoused, unfed, unpitied cast, 
'Neath summer Y sun or winter's blast, 
'Neath hunger's pangs, and sorrow's tears. 
Ring out her Jubilee of years. 
Ye gaunt, pale peasants of the soil 
Ring out your Jubilee of toil ; — 
Your patient wife, your children's cry, 
For food and raiment, shout on high ! 



Shout 
Shout 
Shout 



Eviction's cry of pain; 
Coercion's cruel chain ; 
your wrongs far o'er the sea 



On this great day of Jubilee. 



AN IRISH EXILE'S JUBILEE ODE. 243 

Shout the day when you will stand, 
As freemen in your native land ; 
When she, who now, to pity cold, 
Shall pass away beneath the mold ; 
When honor, fame, and liberty 
Shall sing- your song of Jubilee. 

A few short years, and they, who now 
Would press the thorns upon your brow ; 
Would pass coercive laws, to bind 
Each noble impulse of the mind; 
Will, as their acts, sink deep in gloom 
Without a ray to light their tomb ! 




"244 IN MEMORY OF THOMAS MOORE. 



EX MEMORY OF THOMAS MOORE. 

Thomas Moore, one of Ireland's most illustrious sons and 
sweetest poets, was born in Aungier street, Dublin, in 1780, 
of respectable Catholic parents. As a student of Trinity col- 
lege, his careor was a brilliant one, marked with success. In 
March 1811 he married Miss Dyke, an actress, a native of 
Kilkenny, with whom he lned very happily; and by whom 
he had five children, none of which survived him. The charm 
of his song won for him the admiration of all, so that his life, 
(if we except the close) was one of fete and pleasure. His 
" O Blame not the Bard" was as the apology of a spoiled 
child. Amid all the temptations, flatteries, and pleasures 
that surrounded him he never lost sight of the miseries of 
his native land. He died at Sloperton cottage February 26, 
1852, aged 72 years and nine months. Leaving his worldly 
wealth (an unpublished MS) to his widow, and was buried in 
Bromham, Bedfordshire, England. 

Immortal bard of Erin's Isle, 

How sweet the Lyre ! 
You touched with many a trill the while 

And word of tire ! 
Your melodies with pathos flow, 
In every line their beauties glow ; 
In love, or joy, or grief, or woe, 

They never tire ! 
In budding bloom they ever blow, 

The heart's desire ! 

We hold thee first in bardie fame, 

Sweet child of Song ! 

Whose numbers struck the lurid flame 
Of deep set wrong ! 



IN MEMORY OF THOMAS MOORE. 245 

And tho' your harp was oft' unstrung 
To notes that have the bosom wrung, 
Enough yet thrilled its chords among 

To wreathe your name ! 
For Freedom's fire around it clung, 

Too sweet for blame ! 

The Orpheus of the melting lay, 

Immortal sleeps ! 
Whose minstrelsy thro' Time's decay 

Distinction reaps ! 
In foreign land your body lies, 
Your soul triumphant in the skies ; 
Your harp's sweet trills transcendent rise 

Where glory weeps ! 
With you the song of Erin dies, 

Fond memory keeps ! 

We envy Bromham's church-yard fair, 

Beneath whose breast ; 
The Bard of Erin rests from care, 

And grief oppressed ! 
Our every glory England stole, 
That fired the heart or thrilled the soul ! 
That left our land the miser dole, 

Of years unblest ! 
The poisoned dregs, in Freedom's bowl, — 

Despair at best ! 



246 st. patkick's day. 



ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 

Our natal day once more has come, 

With gladsome song and cheer; 
Once more we think of boyhood's home, 

Its mem'ries fond and dear, 
The Mecca of the Irish heart 

Is ever fair and bright, 
Tho' boundless waves of ocean part 

Its beauties from our sight. 

Ah ! would our song of joy to-day 

Was joyous as of yore, 
Ere we were forced by tyrant sway 

To wander from its shore ; 
Ah ! would the guileless days of youth, 

Come back with rosy smile, 
To sing the song of Love and Truth , 

Within that cherished Isle. 

The touch of friendship there was sweet,- 

As genial as the sun ; 
The glowing heart, with love replete, 

Affection's tribute won : 



st. Patrick's day. 247 

Tho' cares oft bent the spirit proud, 

And dimmed the eye in tears, 
'Twas but the threatening of the cloud, 

That comes, then disappears. 

Around thy name, fair day of days, 

Our fondest wishes twine ; 
For we have song and joy and praise, 

For mem'ries such as thine ; 
There is a legend in our heart 

Which time cannot efface, 
That Fate will yet her vengeance dart 

On England's savage race. 

When next thy song rolls o'er the sea, 

Thou blithe auspicious day, 
Bring in its train sweet Liberty 

To those who've nursed its lay ; 
Bring, bring the clash of sword and strife, 

Of death and gloom and tears, 
To those who've crushed the Irish life 

Thro' centuries of years ! 



248 o'driscoll's daughter. 



O'DRISCOLL'S DAUGHTER. 

Where the ivy-crowned castle frowns dark o'er 

the water; 
Where once shone in beauty, O'DriscolPs fair 

daughter ; 
Where thy fane Innis-Sherkin,* grown gray 

thro' the ages, 
Looks gloomily down on the surf when it rages ; 
Where the Gas Kinane,f fierce, as Charybdis 

swirl, 
Awakens death's gloom in its rush and its 

whirl ; 
Where the Fastnet peers out o'er the wide 

seething ocean, 
As an eagle secure 'mid the tempest's commo- 
tion. 



* An island cne mile from the main land, contains the 
ruins of a monastery. 

f This sound is dangerous in stormy weather, and the un- 
fortunate mariner who cannot throw off a distich to appease 
the anger of Poseidon, is in danger of being ushered into his 
presence. The ability to do so, insures to the voyager, safety 
over its troubled waters. 



o'driscoll's daughter. 249 

Where the famed " Hundred Islands " of Car- 

bery pillow, 
Their dark frowning heads on the breast of the 

billow, — 
Churning the waves in their lawless careering, — 
A maelstrom of wrath in their anger appearing ; 
Here the sea-gull's wild cry is oft heard in alarm, 
The herald that rides on the breast of the storm ; 
Now cleaving the air on her bright angel pinion, 
The wild crag her home, and the surge her 

dominion. 



Here, distant Cape Clear, the last beacon of 
Erin ; 

Here, Baltimore looms, as its sad tale appear- 
ing; 

Here, the old ruined castle, dismantled and 
hoary, 

Looks out on the tide darkly breathing its 
. story ! 

Within its gray walls, where the swallows have 
nested, 

And the ivy, as Friendship, its bartizans crested ; 

Have I gazed on the scene where the Algerine 
sought her, 

And bore her a captive, O'DriscolPs fair daugh- 
ter. 



250 o'diuscoll's daughter. 

Where the light-hearted laugh, and the sweet 
harp resounded ; 

Where the jest and the song in swift rivalry 
bounded ; 

Where the fair face of beauty gleamed bright as 
a vision, 

And the dancer's light step spoke of grace and 
precision ; 

Where stood the O'Driseoll, in battle the bravest. 

[n honor the truest, in council the gravest; 

Where Carbery's maidens — a galaxy stream- 
ing — 

Shone bright thro' its halls, in their loveliness 
beaming. 

Here, where the portal lies crumbled and broken , 
The last cry was heard and the last wish was 

spoken, 
On the threshold of love, with dishonor before 

them, 
The Algerine * horde to their galleys they bore 

them ; 
Among the bruised hearts of the captives thus 

taken, 
The fairest of all thro' the strife is unshaken ; 

* In 1630 the Algerine's landed in Baltimore in the dead 
of night, burned the town and took several of the inhabitants 
into captivity, among them the daughter of O'Driseoll, whom 
they intended for their Dey. They seized one Hackett, a 
Dungarvan fisherman, at sea, and obliged him to steer into 
Baltimore. Two years later he was publicly executed. 



o'dmscoll's daughter. 251 

The during resolve presses fiercely upon lier, 
To end her fair life, ere it sinks in dishonor. 

The fair youth and maiden o'er ocean are borne, 
From the fond ties of home, and of kindred are 

torn, 
To the land where the Simoom and fiercer 

Sirocco 
Sweep over its plains, e'en to distant Morocco ; 
Here thy children, dear Erin, with sad voice 

beseeching, 
Must list to the Koran — the Moslem's dread 

teaching — 
In sadness look back to that church near the 

mountain, 
Whose faith shone as pure, as some clear silver 

fountain. 

Your Dey is no more ! see his life blood is 
streaming ! 

From yonder fair hand with the red dagger 
gleaming ; 

In the midst of his Seraii, when wooing he 
sought her, 

His love notes were stilled by O'Drisscoll's fair 
daughter. 

Now bear her away where the faggots are raging, 

Their terrors bring joy her deep anguish as- 
suaging ; 



252 o'driscoll's daughter. 

O'er the bright sunny tide, her ashes returning, 
To her home by the wave, thro' its carnage and 
burning. 

O'er the lone rocky street, where in boyhood I 
wandered ; 

Where youth's rosy hours were recklessly 
squandered ; 

Dreaming of Freedom by Ellen's'* blue water, 

Where once trod in beauty, O'Driseoll's fair 
daughter, 

What heart-throbs went out o'er that wild deso- 
lation, 

Where Liberty slept, neath the wrongs of a 
nation, 

Breathing a promise, as dark as her story, 

To add one more life to her chaplet of glory. 



* This river empties itself into Baltimore harbor. Balti- 
more is 60 miles south of Cork and is the last place seen by 
the emigrant bound for the United States. 



on tennyson's jubilee ode. 253 



ON TENNYSON'S JUBILEE ODE. 

The last faint effort of expiring pen, 
Throws its grim shadows o'er the page again ; 
The pand'ring Laureate, great at fulsome song, 
Rolls his old cart of adjectives along; 
Plumes his tired wing thro" realms of phantasy. 
To pluck a wreath for England's Jubilee. 
No tawdry showman on the village green, 
E'er juggled words, as he, for Britain's queen ; 
No sycophant ere plied the supple pen 
With steadier zeal, than does this harlequin. 

Plethoric grown, the lexicon must roll 
Stupendous words, to swell his mighty soul : 
" Ever-broad'ning," " ever-wid'ning," "health- 
fuller" — ah me ! 
Webster dethroned for Vic's great Jubilee ! 
But words must broaden, widen — e'en the Earth 
Must dip her axes for imperial birth. 

" Thunders moaning ! ! " Oh ! metaphor sublime. 
The last grand effort of exhausted rhyme ; 
What pension's scribe will do, no pen can tell. 
When empty titles do the numbers swell. 



254 on texnyson's jubilee ode. . 

Come, thou Canadian, to this feast of love ! 
Come from your jungle and your sacred grove. 
You dusky sons of Hinclostan repair 
To Albion's coast, why stand you dreaming 

there ? 
Know that your Empress, bending o'er your 

chain, 
Has reached her fiftieth year of glorious reign ! 
Come with the pearls of your Indian seas, 
Or Vishnu's eyes, if they her whim should 

please : 
Bring, bring the wealth of Delhi and Cawnpore ; 
For she already has your Kohinoor ; 
All that remains, if any, bring along 
To swell her coffers and her Laureate's song. 

Come Boer, come Zulu, Berber, Soudanee 
With thoughts subdued for England's jubilee ; 
Come with your scars, your fetters, and your 

hate ! 
Come, ere the call should reach your ears too 

late : 
Come Arab, Caffre, Zealander, and see 
St. Paul's illumined for our jubilee ; 
See myriads trooping o'er that "Broken Arch,'* 
In one continued, brilliant line of inarch ! 

Come Australian from Antipodes ; 
Come thou with Apples of ITesperides «• 



on tennyson's jubilee ode. 255 

The Orpheus of song would bend your sails, 
O'er Tropic seas, to" where our pomp prevails ; 
His spell as potent, would your steps entice, 
As did his master that of Eurydice ; 
Your wrongs, your troubles, and your griefs 

expire, 
Before the charms of his thrilling lyre ! 

Alas ! poor Erin, once so brave and bold, 
Lord Alfred leaves you shiv'ring in the cold : 
His Orphean lyre has not one note for thee, 
Thou wayward daughter of dark destiny : 
Not e'en his tenderest, sweetest note could bring 
Your stubborn heart within his magic ring ! 

His Queen ! His mighty queen ! has forged for 

thee 
Her strongest chains, to ease your misery ! 
Has sent you Famine, Buckshot, Death and Gloom, 
And now you wish her rested in the tomb ! 
Ungrateful land ! for fifty years has she 
Been to your race, a song of Jubilee ! 
Her reign has sent more prayers to the grave, 
Than would the armies of the Romans save. 

Oh ! what a creature man can be for gold, — 
How dead to shame, to pity's throb how cold. 
How will the gift divine perverted be, 
At chink of gold, or nod of royalty ! 



250 tyranny's curse. 

Yes, call your slaves from distant lands and 

bind, 
With heavier chains their nerveless hands and 

mind ; 
Splatter the virgin sheet with fulsome praise, 
Which only dims the glamour of your bays ; 
Your greedy soul, too thirstful and too base, 
As Fortune's bubble soon must meet disgrace, 
When she whose reign your hungry pen en- 
twines 
With deeds of mercy leaded twixt the lines ; 
Shall see the future thro' the gath'ring gloom, 
That bears her life and actions to the tomb ; 
There, there your song shall end, her joys begin. 
If, that her reign be free from crime or sin. 



TY r RAK^Y'S CURSE. 

I know a land as fair and grand, 

As ever sun shone o'er ; 
With sons as brave, on land or wave, 

As ever banner bore ; 
But the Norman came with sword and flame, 

And with blows both fierce and keen ; 
He quenched in tears our land for years, 

And dimmed its luster green. 



TYRANNY S CURSE. 'I'O i 

But the bloody sword of the robber horde, 

Oft fell from their pulseless grasp, 
As they met the blows of their stalwart foes, 

Or reeled in their iron clasp ! 
Thus, from age to age, the bloody page, 

Of slaughter dire was seen, 
Till the streams ran red, with the blood they 
shed 

In defence of their land of green. 



When Ninety-eight had sealed the fate, 

Of Emmet and of Tone : 
Men stood aghast, as their graves they passed 

Unlettered and unknown; 
There Erin sat like a death-clad bride, 

For the joy of her heart hath tied, 
And a nameless mound, was all that bound, 

Her faith in the mighty dead ! 

And the years rolled on, but the sun ne'er 
shone 

On " Erin of the streams," 
And laws accursed, o'er her bosom burst, 

As lightnings vivid gleams; 
And the stormy minds like the angry winds, 

That swept o'er her vales, serene, 
Were forced to fly, from her breast or die, 

Tn defence of their Hag of green. 



258 JUBILEE REFLECTIONS. 

But the days of grace draw on apace, 

When time's unerring bow, 
Shall speed the dart, that shall pierce the heart, 

Of Erin's deadly foe ; 
In that hour of bliss, shall it be amiss 

To pray for the Saxon Queen ; 
And wish her race, in some other place, 

Than our beauteous Isle of green ? 

May Erin's Tell, the superb Par n ell, 

Hold the tyrant in the toils, 
Till Freedom's voice, shall the earth rejoice, 

And unloose the serpent's coils ; 
When that hour shall come, may Emmet's 
tomb, 

With treasured memories glow ; 
And an anthem raise, of song and praise. 

To the Hand that has laid her low. 



-:<>: 



JUBILEE REFLECTIONS. 

Bending beneath her crown of gold, 
Set with diamonds of price untold, 
She comes arrayed as the morning's beam- 
A thousand gems on her bosom gleam ; 
In cleft, rare colors, from climes afar, 
From Afric's shores, from Candahar ; 



JUBILEE REFLECTIONS. 259 

In costliest fabrics, she comes arrayed, 
The glittering remnant of life decayed ! 

The marshalling hosts before her stream, 
As tho' she were Love's enchanting dream ; 
Onward, still onward, their ceaseless flow 
Press thro' the millions of pain and woe ! 
Onward, still onward, the pageant creeps, 
Where the surging heart in defiance leaps ; 
Her car of triumph, as Conquest, rolls 
Thro' burning hearts, and thro' thirsting souls! 

Behind, the glitter of pomp and pride, 
To wealth, and glory, and birth allied; 
Sneering, they greet the wild huzza 
That mocks the throbbings of Nature's Law ! 
Onward, their carriages proudly roll, 
As a vision of joy to the earnest soul ! 
What care they for the canaille throng, 
Their life, as the dawn, is sweet with song. 

En satin, and velvet, and rich brocade, 
The daughters of wealth are here arrayed : 
Onyx, and pearl, and topaz gleam, 
As glintings of sun on the laughing stream ; 
On, onward they come, as a flood of light 
That pierces the gloom of the ebon night! 
Onward they come with haughty mein, 
To swell the pageant of England's Queen. 



260 JUBILEE REFLECTIONS. 

On the outmost verge of that throng what pain, 
What anxious throbbing of heart and brain ; 
What tears, what longings, what cares, what 

woes, 
What foodless stomachs, what ragged clothes ; 
What drooping spirits, what deep despair, 
As Banquo's ghost, are rising there ! 
The song of Hope from their heart is fled, 
And the cloud of want o'er their life is spread. 

The kingdoms of earth are here to grace, 
The pageant that humbles the human race : 
Are here the agents of despot sway, 
To awe the millions on this fair day ! 
On, on, they come, as the stars that gleam 
Thro' the depths of Thames, dark, muddy 

stream ; 
On, on, they come, as the lightning sped 
Thro' the ebon clouds that loom o'erhead. 



Ignorance, poverty, crime, and pain, 
Are here in numbers to swell the train — 
Shouting the glory of England's might, 
As tho' their life was a thing of light ; 
Shouting their toil, their care, their tears, 
That shadow their lives thro' the weary years ; 
Shouting the splendors that power brings 
To the haughty minions of queens and kings. 



JUBILEE REFLECTIONS. 261 

On, to Westminster, old and gray— 
The lone, sad relic of Time's decay ! 
Where king and minister coldly sleep, 
Dark as the shadows that round them creep ! 
Here, here, will the guilty statesman find 
A theme to harrow the soul and mind ! 

Here do the pomp and the pride of earth 
Give other creatures a life and birth; 
Here will the graves around him breathe 
Their tale of anguish and woe beneath ; 
Here will his own dark life reveal 
The shadows that thro' its chambers steal ! 
Within these gray walls will Conscience dart 
Her arrows of doom on his guilty heart, 

Does England's Queen, in this hour of pride, 
Think of that Island across the tide ? 
Its wrongs, its griefs, its tears, its pain, 
Clouding its sky thro' her long, long reign. 
In this bright hour of her Jubilee ; 
Has she no tear for its misery ! 



2f)2 THE MITCH ELSTOWN HORROR. 



THE MITCHELSTOWN HORROR, 

Oh ! Pity strain your tearful eye, 

Oh ! Vengeance speed your winged dart 

For cruel breast of man is dry, 

And demon hate pervades his heart. 

Beneath the Autumn's golden sun, 

That breaks o'er Galtees rugged height, 

The glitt'ring sword and polished gun, 
Of hireling soldier, glisten bright. 

They come, as tho' an armed foe, 
Was theirs to meet in conflict dire ; 

They come as Havoc, or as Woe ! 
With fell intent and tierce desire. 

They come the mercen'ries of death, 
Shielded by laws of hate untold ; 

The pitying pang, they tread beneath, 
For they in Slaughter's mart are sold. 

The peaceful gath'ring in the street, 
That would assert a nation's rights, 

This is the foe they come to meet ! 
This, this, the foe their valor fights ! 



THE MITCHELSTOWN HORROR. 263 

Manhood's prime, — the silvered head — 
The daring heart, — the bloom of youth, 

Alike are numbered with the dead ; 
Alike are sacrificed to Truth ! 

Alas, poor Londregan, lying there, 
By ruffian soldier stricken down ; 

How specl your three score years of prayer, — 
Of blameless life in Mitehelstown. 

The bullet speeding thro' your heart, 
The guiltless life-blood oozing slow, 

Make tyrant slaves in horror start ! 
At crime so dark, so "full of woe. 

All patient Ruler of the spheres, 
Your awful judgment long delayed, 

Shall roll unerring as your years, 

To those whose laws 'gainst Thine are made. 

Oh ! hasten the avenging hour, 

Thou mighty God of Seraphim ; 
Stay, Oh ! stay ! the bloody power 

That toys with life in savage whim ! 



■K'A FORSTER IN MEMORIAM. 



FORSTER— IN MEMORIAM. 

Buckshot Forster for ever is dead, 

As the clammy turf o'er his coffin spread, 

Or the marble dripping its slow decay, 

In the gloom of its vault till the Judgment Day 

Dead as the justice he oil earth denied, 

To those who for life or for mercy cried ; 

Dead as the victims he left bestrown, 

On the earth like trees, by the tempest blown. 

But where, Oh! where, is that spirit fled, 

With its heavy burden of woe and dread ? 

The roofless cabin, the dreary wild ; 
The wailing cry of the hungry child; 
The father's despair, the mother's grief; 
The anguished prayer, that sought relief; 
The gaping prison, the clanking chain ; 
The rifles pouring their iron rain ! 
The piercing shriek, the deep groan of pain ; 
The life blood oozing from heart and brain ; 
The havoc and slaughter of fiendly power, 
Looked ghastly and grim in that dying hour ! 



DEFIANCE. 265 

These were the passports that Forster bore 
On the wings of Death, to that heavenly shore ; 
Where the pure of heart, and the just of earth, 
Forever rejoice in a glorious birth ! 
This was the record he bore on high, 
To Empyrean Throne beyond the sky ; 
To the God who died for the sins of man ; 
Who bounds the earth with a single span ; 
Whose power is bestowed, that its donor may 
Rejoice in the light of Eternal Day. 
This, this the burden, his soul now brings, 
To the Judgemnt seat, of the King of Kings ! 



DEFIANCE. 

From Erin's shore is heard once more, 

The old time song of love and cheer ; 
Whose treasured notes o'er ocean float, 

Inspiritingly sweet and clear ; 
Her griefs to-day are flung away, 

Tho' angry clouds obscure her sky : 
Whilst memories crowd on hearts as proud, 

As ever throbbed to Freedom's cry. 



266 DEFIANCE. 

The genial earth that gave us birth, 

Tho' stained by blood, is ever bright ; 
The shamrock grows beside the rose, 

And nature wears her robe of light : 
Yet over all there hangs a pall, 

Of death and gloom, of tears and woe. 
For England draws coercive laws 

From out the gloom, to smite her low. 

Thrice hated name, we cry thee shame, 

On this fair day to Ireland dear ; 
Array your might to crush the right — 

Unconquered will our cause appear ; 
The iron heel or barbed steel, 

Of despot pow'r may do its worst, 
Yet wilt thou find the force you bind, 

Will on yourself in fury burst! 

Avert the strife that dooms your life, 

To devastation and to death ! 
Avert the crash, when armies clash, 

And Muscovites their swords unsheath ! 
In that grim hour of fading power, 

What wouldst thou give for Ireland's crest. 
To stay the speed of Cossack steed, 

Or bear his lance within her breast. 

Yes, forge your chains while power remains, 
Beleaguered, as thou art by foes ; 

Let shackles bind the hand and mind — 
Crowd all thy wrath, where none oppose : 



ON THE QUEEN'S SPEECH. 267 

Thy reign of blood, thro' years has stood, — 

Unchecked its fury as of yore ; 
Unpitying — dread — its course as red, 

As when the Norman touched our shore. 

Dost fear the end, my Saxon friend ? 

The powers of earth have crumbled — fell ; 
The " Broken Arch " will show your march, 

Where Thames now rolls his turbid swell ; 
Then bow to fate, ere yet too late, 

The Irish heart you'll ne'er subdue ; 
Your strength shall fail, before the Gael, 

For lie to Freedom's cause is true. 



ON THE QUEEN'S SPEECH. 

The wrongs and the tears of a nation, 
Find no place in Victoria's oration ; 
Her multiplied cares are dead to the prayers, 
Of the Irishman's trust and oblation. 

Tis the powder and ball of the cannon, 
On the banks of the Nile or the Shannon ; 
Or rifle's dread whiz, that does all the biz, 
For such towns as Cawnpore or Dungannon. 



268 ON the queen's speech. 

She coys with the old Bear of Russia, 
And smoothes down the Eagle of Prussia ; 
But Bnrmah remains, as Ireland, in chains, 
For she sends o'er a Wolsely to crush ye. 

To the Irish is Salisbury heeding, 
While Balfour attends to the bleeding ! 
What glory to reign, where manhood is slain, 
Tho' her path to the grave is fast speeding. 

She's learning to speak Hindoostanee, 
The Gaelic, the Russ and Slavanee ; 
For Salisbury's power is waning each hour, 
And Gladstone is loved by the many. 

Her blessing goes out for coercion, 
With grape shot and torch for diversion ; 
Her ministers all, are earnest, and call 
For the National league's subversion. 

There is Healy, and Davitt, and Dillon, 
O'Brien and Parnell, the villain ; 
How saintly she'd pray were they out of the 
way, 
Or safe in some strong-guarded prison ! 

She'll send Chamberlain over to Derry, 
To pilot the Orangeman's wherry ; 
Then straight to Belfast to blow up a blast, 
That things in the north may go merry. 



EXTERMINATION, NOT COERCION. 2< : >!) 

More near to her heart and her wishes, 
The " Bine Xoses' " claim to the fishes, 
Than Mitchelstown's woe, where the red tor- 
rents flow ! 
From the bullet's demoniac hisses ! 

Is it true ? And if so, what a pity, 
That Balfour arrived in your city; 
Is Dublin asleep, that this villain dare creep 
With his " star chamber " plots to commit ye ? 



EXTERMINATION, NOT COERCION. 

From Antrim Head to far Cape Clear; 

From Sline's dark wave, to Howth Head. 
The cry of blood appals the ear, 

For chains are forged and rifles fed ; 
Once more across the friendly sea, 

Beneath its waters dread and lone, 
The fettered arms of Liberty 

Cry thro' its waves for freedom gone. 

Thou godless tyrant — strength thou hast. 
And with it beats a demon's heart ; 

Thy bloody crimes have stained the past, 
From which e'en now thou wilt not part : 



270 EXTERMINATION, NOT COERCION. 

Assyria, Persia, Greece, and Rome — 

The mighty nations of the past, 
Passed from the earth as ocean foam, 

As thou wilt go, — art going fast. 

It needs no prophet to divine, 

The words now written on the wall ; 
Then wreak your vengeance — tire the mine — 

As ISTero — slaughter, ere you fall ; 
Yes, strut and swagger, fume and. fret, 

There is no terror in your frown, 
The Irish arm will smite you yet — . 

Will tear your bloody laurels down. 

The reeking sword is in your hand, 

Its blade is red with Irish gore ; 
The rifle 's poised at dread command, 

And havoc reigns supreme once more ; 
Unarmed Ireland waits the shock, 

With darkened brow and broken blade, 
As fierce as wave that smites the rock, 

And swirls across the gulf it made. 

As well disturb the vulture's feast — 

Nature has marked thee out for blood ; 
Now e'en the pure annointed priest 

Is swallowed in the raging flood, 
Onward it sweeps from shore to shore, 

Nor prayer, nor tear, will check its course, 
O'er broken arms its terrors pour ! 

'Gainst naked breasts it spends its force. 



EXTERMINATION, NOT COERCION. 271 

Coercion, pshaw ! the name's absurd — 

Search thou the lexicon of thought ; 
Search Milton, Dante, for a word 

That would express the terrors sought ; 
*■ A serpent armed with mortal sting ! " 

Aye, that arranged in one dread word, 
Would all its force of horrors bring 

To those whose wrath you have incurred. 

Yes, count your wealth as sands of sea ; 

Pile up your hecatombs of slain ; 
Forge stronger chains for Liberty ; 

And steel-clad ships to sweep the main ! 
Secure at every point, then rest, — 

If rest there be, for such as thou, — 
Through sleepless nights with burdened breast. 

Wipe clammy sweat from guilty brow 

How many live a life of fear, 

Who, in the senate hall are brave ; 
How many dread from year to year, 

To rest their bones in bloody grave ; 
Conscience disturbed, what dreadful curse, 

The awful monitor of guilt; 
What fearful thought will it not nurse, 

When once the blood of man is spilt. 



272 on tennyson's colonial ode. 



ON TENNYSON'S COLONIAL ODE. 

The poet Laureate — Tennyson — 
Gives England's queen his benison, 
In maudlin verse of fulsome song, 
In menial praise, of deeds of wrong : 
No minstrel of the olden times 
Extolled his chiefs unhallowed crimes. 
With keener zest than here is shown, 
Of, " Britons hold your own." 

Forever, be thy verse accursed, 

Of bards the meanest, and the worst ; 

Since first you penned " God save the Queen," 

You have been mercen'ry and mean ; 

You've sold the gift which nature gave 

For gold, — the fetters of the slave. 

Yes, " hold your own," if " own " it be. 
From Tropic clime to frozen sea ! 
Let earth revolve, her shining frame," 
In light and shade to curse your name ; 
Let Father Nile's dark muddy stream, 
With Berber's blood and Arab's gleam ; 
Let Boers and Zulus shout and sing 
The blessings which the Britons bring ; 



on tennyson's colonial ode. 273 

Let Siam's king, supine Hindoo, 
Reveal the deeds that Britons do : 
From Arctic Sea to Torrid Zone, 
Shout out! let "Britons hold your own." 

Yes, trembling robber, "hold your own,*' 
Nor feign to see your sinking throne ; 
Bring weak-kneed slaves from o'er the sea 
To glimmer in your pageantry; 
Bring the wild beasts from Indian clime, ' 
To shout your driveling laureate rhyme ; 
Bring! Oh bring! a cabin o'er 
From Erin's gveen and lovely shore : 
Bring the evicted in your train, 
To shout the great Victoria's reign ! 
Bring the tierce Cossack of the Don, 
Or bring the much wronged Irishman ; 
Then shout your cry, " Let us alone, " 
Of, " Britons hold your own." 



Ah! wayward Eagle of the West, 
Who did'st forsake the parent nest ; 
Why didst thou in a fateful hour 
Plume thy bold wing, from Briton's power ? 
Hast thou no soul for song or praise, 
For the sweet Laureate's melting lays? 
Come back, thou bird with heart of stone, 
For sure the Britons love their own. 



274 THE ARREST OF FATHER KELLER. 

" God over all " — poor Tennyson ! 

Smirches all the poet won ; 

Has not one word of song or praise, 

For him who crowned his brows with bays 

ISTo, for the great, the good Gladstone 

Tells Irishmen " To hold their own." 



THE ARREST OF FATHER KELLER AT 
YOUGHAL, COUNTY CORK 

Arrest the priest who dares espouse, 
The sacred cause of Truth and Right ; 

Arrest the priest, who'd dare arouse 

Man's sinking heart, thro' gloom of night. 

Imprison all who ask for life, 

All who would dare that life to give ; 

There is no honor in the strife, 

Then show them you've a right to live. 

Let ghost of Forster stalk once more, 
The troubled earth, in Balfour's form, 

For creatures of his ilk galore, 
Are there to quell the rising storm : 



THE ARREST OF FATHER KELLER. 275 

But will they still the growing hate, 

That rages in the Irish heart ; 
As well avert the stroke of fate, — 

As well enslave the lightning's dart : 

Let broken statesmen tell the tale — 

Their sleepless nights, their days of dread, 

llowe'er they try they 're sure to fail, 
E'en tho' their pens with blood are red. 

The endless years forever roll, 

Across the page of Irish life ; 
Yet as they pass, the purer soul 

Emerges from the bloodv strife. 

The puny puppet of a day 

Will play his pranks before high heaven ; 
Will e'en o'er-reach coercion's sway, 

That he may show the Tory leaven. 

But years of peace are drawing near, 
The world grow's brighter day by day ; 

E'en bloody laws no more bring fear, 
To those who would their terror stay. 

The wrongs you heap on Ireland now, — 
The wounds you deal, the lives you take, 

Will bring dread fear to England's brow, 
When foreign wars o'er her shall break. 



27<! st. Patrick's day redivjvi. 

In that grim hour of death and strife — 
As guilty soul from heaven cast, 

Would she restore the Irish life, — 
In penitence' wipe out the past. 



-:o:- 



ST. PATRICK'S DAY REDIVIVI. 



Air :— " St. Patrick's Day." 



How long shall the red flag of Britain wave o'er 
us ? 
How long shall her mandates our people op- 
press ? 
How long shall the pall, which the tyrant flung 
o'er us 
Obscure heaven's light, and our freedom sup- 
press ? 
As long as her word is hacked by her sword ; 
As long as her arm unbroken doth rule ; 
As long as her laws, smirch Liberty's cause ; 
So long shall she hold hapless Erin in bondage, 

A gem without lustre, a flowerless May; 
A sorrowing queen, for whom heroes shall 
muster, 
And battle for Freedom on Patrick's Day. 



st. Patrick's day redivivi. 277 

Already, the tyrant is making concession, 

And promising measures, she never will give ; 
Her infamous rule has been one of oppression ; 
And her gifts are bestowed that her power 
ma} 7 live ; ■ 
With threatening France, and the Russians' ad- 
vance, 
An emollient is offered dear Erin to thee ; 
An emollient per se, for some base Castlereagh ; 
To barter our rights to that treacherous nation, 
Whose " Wise Legislation " we earnestly 
pray ; 
May end like the traitor, whose name is here 
mentioned, 
And cut its vile throat on St. Patrick's Day. 



All we seek from John Bull is entire separa- 
tion — 
"Home Rule" is a sham — a mere partisan 
cry— 

For our long years of serfdom, we want a free 
nation, 
And have it we will, tho' the tyrant should 
die : 

This regime may do, for the lukewarm few, 

Who would gladly accept any measure of grace ; 

But the boon of to-day, would be soon snatched 
away ; 



278 st. Patrick's day kedivivi. 

If ever the Russian should meet with disaster, 
And the Briton be master, with power to 
slay ; 
We'd soon cross the Ocean, less graceful, and 
faster, 
Than ever we did, on St. Patrick's Day. 

Look eastward brave hearts, where the rosy 
cheeked morning, 
Is gilding the hill tops, of Erin to-day, 
With roseate hues, for the bridal adorning, 
That decks Ocean's Queen this St. Patrick's 
Day. 
For the land of our sires, of our loves, and de- 
sires, 
Has donned the green Shamrock of Hope in 

her breast ; 
Has enkindled anew, all the fervor we drew, 
From out the pure font, of our sweet sainted 
Erin, 
Whose counsel endearing, ne'er led us astray, 
But kept us enthralled, by the goal she is near- 
ing, 
Of God, and our Land, and St. Patrick's 
Day. 



TO MY MOTHER. 279 



TO MY MOTHER. 

Tho author, expecting re-arrest, hurriedly prepared to leave 
his native land, without acquainting his mother, hut she, sus- 
pecting his intention, met the conveyance that was to hear 
him away, some distance from the town. After which fol- 
lowed an agonizing scene, which he has affectionately en- 
deavored to picture, and which can only be realized by those 
who have had similiar experiences. — This was in the fall of 
1865, immediately after Ihe first arrests in Dublin and Cork. 

How many years have fled since I 
Received the parting kiss from thee ; 

What sorrow since that last good-bye, — 
When you were heaven's fair light to me, 

My Mother ! 

The yearning look of tenderness, 

Which smote my heart as barb of pain ; 

The upraised hands that did me bless, 
In mem'ry's shrine shall e'er remain, 

My Mother ! 

Thy anguished cry of keen despair, 
That rent my breast at parting so ! 

Thy mute appeal to God in prayer, 
That He with me o'er earth would go, 

Mv Mother I 



280 TO MY MOTHER. 

The ever-present, dread farewell, 

Of hope, and joy, and life the dearth, 

Upon thy sainted features fell, 

That we should meet no more on earth, 

My Mother ! 

And when the parting moment came. 
And Freedom craved that I should go, 

From thy loved lips I heard my name 
To heaven ascend, thro' cry of woe, 

My Mother ! 

Indistinct grew that much loved form, — 
The light that lit affection's soul, — 

And I was left, to breast life's storm, 
Without your gentle, sweet control, 

My Mother ! 

How many hearts as thine were left, 
By kindred sorrows seared and broken. 

Of joy, and light, and life bereft, — 
A dreary void, of Hope the token, 

My Mother ! 

How many hearts as thine went down, 

In silent sorrow to the dust ; 
With tearful wish, that God would crown, 

The offspring which their bosoms nursed, 

My Mother ! 



the exile's song. 281 

Beneath the oak-tree's cooling shade, 
That much loved form forever lies; 

Ln native earth forever laid. — 
Your soul eternal in the skies, 

My Mother ! 



-:o: 



THE EXILE'S SONG. 



Air : — " Young Ellen Lorrain." 



There is a green Island away o'er the ocean, 
Whose mem'ries resurgent bring joy to the 
heart ; 
Whose struggles for freedom,— whose deeds of 
devotion 
Awaken the glories, that erst would depart; 
The sheen of its fields, and the glint of its 
rivers ; 
The song of its birds and the sweep of its 
hills; 
As sunbeam of Hope, thro' the Irish heart 
quivers ; 
Or wild note of harp, in its magical trills. 



282 the exile's song. 

How sweet are its songs thro' the roll of the 
ages ; 
How fruitful of virtue, of love and renown : 
Thro' shadows of time, they glow 'mid the 
pages, 
That bring to the exile his joy and his crown ; 
They warm the heart with each tender emotion ; 
They brighten the soul with their passionate 
swell ; 
Their pathos and fire, as the blue wave of ocean, 
Now tranquil, now seething, as At-e's wierd 
spell. 



How many brave hearts o'er the wild waves are 
speeding, 
Oppress'd with the storm of hate at their 
breast ; 
How many sweet souls to the Saviour are plead- 
ing, 
To guide their fair land to a haven of rest : 

Thro' the conflict of war, or the statesman's en- 
deavor ; 
Thro' dark clouds of havoc, of carnage, and 
strife, 
To wrest their dear land from the tyrant for- 
ever, 
And give to its brave sons, blest freedom and 
life. 



REMEMBRANCE. 283 



REMEMBRANCE. 



Air :— » St. Patrick's Day." 



The glad song of Erin, once more o'er the ocean, 
Is heard, tho' its notes are less fervid and 

clear ; 
Its numbers grow sad, yet its strains of devo- 
tion, 
Bring hope on its wings to the Irishman 

here : 
The Shamrock's as green, as bright in its 

sheen — 
As pure and as stainless, as Freedom's sweet 

name ; 
Its mem'ries as bright as the morning's fair 

light, — 
Oh ! the rapture untold in the swell of thy 

numbers, 
Dear song of old Ireland, tho' far, far away; 
The sweet harp of Erin awakes from her 

slumbers 
To welcome the dawning of Patrick's Day ! 



284 REMEMBRANCE. 

Unstinted our love for that dear land of sorrow, 
Whose faith and devotion no pen could por- 
tray ; 
Whose dark days of gloom, see a glorious to 
morrow, * 

That deepens the green of St. Patrick's Day ! 
Her wrongs and her tears, thro' the vistas of 

years, 
Have crimsoned the page, and have sullied her 

lay; 
But Hope sheds her light on the gloom of her 

night, 
Whose bright cheerful glow has a warmth 
within it, 
Whose future shall win it, God's heavenly 
ray— 
Her sweet song of freedom shall break forth in 
splendor, 
To gladden our hearts on St. Patrick's Day ! 



Already the war-cry is heard with alarm, 

That threatens our foe with destruction and 
death ! 
Already the clouds are portentous of storm , 
And Freedom now smiles on the land of our 
birth ! 
Coercion and chain are all that remain, 
To Erin's brave sons in this civilized age ; 



KATHLEEN. 285 

But the Muscovite's steel, shall yet make them 

reel, 
For the havoc and crimes they have wreaked 
on our sireland, 
The beautiful Island of ocean, away; 
The Cossack of Don, and the Turcoman fiercer, 
Shall yet right her wrongs on St. Patrick's 
Daw 



:o:- 



KATHLEEN. 



Air : — "Green Hills of Tyrol." 



I've plucked a rose for fair Kathleen ; 
A beauteous rose, with leaves of green ; 
She '11 wear it in her sunny hair, 
Or next her heart if I should care. 
Her beauty's as glowing, 
As its red leaves when blowing, 
Set my thoughts sweetly flowing, 
Their treasures to thee. 
Oh ! for thy sake, my heart's fair queen, 
I'd give my life for Ireland's green ; 
With Ireland's cause I'd gladly wed, 
And raise her Green, o'er Ens-land's Red ! 



286 KATHLEEN. 

When next we meet, my heart's delight, 
I'll bring a wreath of shamrocks bright, — 
The modest type of love and thee — 
The joyous crown of liberty ! 

On thy bosom, as nearest; 

As thy sweet love, is dearest, 

When proudly thou hearst, 
On mountain and lea, 
The steady tramp of Freedom's corps, 
When Ireland's heart shall grieve no more ; 
When beauteous flowers shall deck her green. 
And gleam within thy hair, Kathleen. 

The blushing morning's rosy beam, 
That shines upon each hill and stream ! 
Is not more fair than Erin's queen — 
The rose of love, my sweet Kathleen ! 

As, the halo of morning 

Its fair tints suborning ! 

All its glories adorning, 
The eastern sky ! 
So doth my love in beauty glow ! 
As fair and pure as heaven's bow ! 
The fairest flower that decks the green, — 
My beauteous love, my sweet Kathleen. 



THE BOYCOTT. 287 



THE BOYCOTT. 



Air : — Kate Kearney. 



O, did you ne'er hear of old Boycott, 
Who lived in the land where the dry rot ? 

Of lawsJ;he accursed, 

And of land-lords the worst, 
Was this infamous rascal named Boycott, 

But, the Irish concocted the sly lot, 
To make matters warm for Boycott, 

Neither pastry nor meat, 

Would they sell him to eat, 
So he vamosed the ranch, did old Boycott. 

Then he sailed o'er the Ocean, and why not? 
For Columbia has many a Boycott; 

There his acts and his shame 

Were lost, but his name 
Will long be remembered as Boycott. 

For Columbia has many a Boycott; 
Unprincipled, greedy, and sly that 

Bring shame and disgrace, 

On this country's fair face : 
Where no room should exist for a Boycott. 



288 SHATTERED HOPES. 

And now 'tis a question we try that. 
Oppressors be dealt with like Boycott ; 

If the workman's just cause, 

Be not backed by the laws 
Why, then lay on the knout of the boycott. 

For a chastening rod is the bo} 7 cott, 
Tt enters Tim Murphy's and my cot, 
And, as true men we swear, 
We'll not eat, smoke, nor wear 
An article branded with boycott M ! 

Here's a lung-splitting cheer for the boycott, 
'T is the net-work that catches each sly plot ; 

To the brave Knights of L., 

May their power soon tell, 
How they've humbled their foes with the boy 

cott. 



SHATTERED HOPES. 



Air : — Ailleen Aroon. 



False hearted Britain thou'rt ever the same, 
Merciless tyrant, where, where is thy shame ? 

Where are thy pledges now ? 

Stamped on thine alien brow, — 

A traitor to honor thou, — 
Falsehood 's thy name. 



SHATTERED HOPES. "289 

To-day Erin's cause is more potent than thine ; 
To-day Erin's sun doth as brilliantly shine ; 

Honor and Truth to wield, 

Over her broken shield, 

Hopeful another field, 
Laurels may twine. 

Long shall thy perfidy ring thro' the years ; 
Long shall thy broken faith mirror thy fears ; 

Long shall your Celtic foe 

Pay thee back blow for blow ; 

Thro' dark scenes of strife and woe, 
Bloodshed and tears ! 

And thou, glorious land, of the true and the 

brave, 
Speed thy glad message of hope o'er the wave ! 

Show the sororicide 

Erin's deep wounds, that hide 

Justice too long denied — 
Liberty's grave ! 



290 freedom's hybrid. 



FREEDOM'S HYBRID. 

On the Resolution of Sympathy for Ireland Introduced in 
the Rhode Island Legislature. 

To-day when the freedom of Ireland draws near, 
And her statesmen await the dread issue witli 

fear ; 
Lo ! puny Rhode Island, contracted and mean, 
Awakens surprise, by her bigoted spleen, — 
Refuses her sympathy — trivial at best, 
As a hybrid that's hatched in fair Liberty's 

nest ; 
Refuses to Ireland her beggarly mite, 
In the struggle of freemen to battle for right. 
Contemptible Star, 'mongst your sisters the 

least, 
Henceforth let your place on the Banner be 

creased. 

Undisturbed, shall the heart of this country e'er 
beat, 

For a people with valor and virtues replete ; 

Undisturbed shall it beat, whilst a freeman re- 
mains, 

To shatter the bandings of Liberty's chains. 



ERIN AROON. 291 

Whilst a Barry's, a Kearney's, a Sullivan's name, 
Is inscribed on her scroll, in the temple of Fame ; 
Whilst a Shield's brilliant triumph, a Sheridan's 

ride, 
As bright stars of glory, shall rank side by 

side ; 
And the red fields of slaughter historic have 

been, 
Thro' the esprit de corps of the sons of the Green. 



-:o: 



ERIN AROOK 

Far o'er the Ocean wide, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Far o'er the dancing tide, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Neath your mild sunny skies, 
Nature adorned lies ; — 
Sweet as your symphonies, 

Erin Aroon ! 



292 ERIN AROON. 

Clear are thy streams that flow, 
Erin Aroon ! 

Balmy thy breezes blow, 

Erin Aroon ! 

Fair are thy flow'ry meads, 

Cry staled with dewey beads ; 

Fair as thy noble deeds, 

Erin Aroon ! 



Fair be thy destiny, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Fair as God's Litany, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Fair as your sapphire skies, 
Tinged with the morning dyes ; 
Fair as our sympathies, 

Erin Aroon ! 



Sad is the song you sing, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Plaintive its echoes ring, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Fling the sad harp away, 
Nerve for the noble fray ; 
Sing them a bolder lay, 

Erin Aroon I 



THE UNION JACK. 293 

Unpitying all are they, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Wedded to tyranny, 

Erin Aroon ! 
Laughing at sorrow's tear, 
Steeping the heart in fear ; 
Grimly and cold and drear, 

Erin Aroon ! 



-:o: 



THE UNION JACK. 

Lines written on seeing - the Union Jack floating from the 
Masthead of the Erastus Corning, Jr., a pleasure hoat plying 
between Troy and Albany. 

They tell me I live in a land made free, 

By the blood of a giant race ! 
They show me their flag of Liberty, 

With the Stars and Stripes on its face ! 
They tell me it floats where the Cross of St. 
George, 

Had once dyed this land in blood ! 
And over dead bodies had made a gorge, 

Of those who for Freedom stood ! 

And I bless me I 'scaped, from a far off land. 

Where high over castle and wold, 
That same Red Flag doth as proudly stand, 

As it did in this land of old : 



294 THE UNION JACK. 

And keenly my thoughts rush down thro' the 
vears, 

That have buried my land in gloom ; 
And fervid my prayers, that, that Isle of tears, 

Will yet wear its verdant hloom ! 

As thus I muse, a boat shoots past, 

On the breast of the Hudson's wave ; 
And over the Stars, and Stripes, — from the 
mast! 

Floats the Flag, that marks Freedom'' s grave ! 
And I tell them, ye dastards ! ye are not free ! 

Your Flag hangs its head in shame ! 
Whilst over its folds, as in victory ! 

Waves the one which your hearts doth 
el aim ! 

The following editorial notice, on the foregoing poem, was 
published in the Troy Press of September 23d, 1869: 

The beautiful and spirited poem, which we publish to-day 
on our third page, is from the pen of a resident of the Ninth 
Ward of this city. It has the genuine ring of Tom Moore's 
verses, and the spirit of Robert Emmet. We can almost ex- 
cuse the act of an American, flying the British " Union jack" 
from the masthead of his boat, since it has produced such a 
stirring remonstrance. Why should an Irishman delight in 
the sight of the British flag, when he remembers the cen- 
turies through which Great Britain has oppressed his people ? 
The time when these oppressions began, is now so far distant, 
that the acts of the Irish people, to throw off the galling yoke, 
the risings in arms, the burning towns, and the slaughter are 
all cited by the Lords and Commons of Parliament, as so 



THE UNION JACK. 295 

many reasons, why the foot of the lion should press all the 
more firmly upon the Irish neck. And when, at last, Parlia- 
ment and the English poople see that something- must be 
done, to stay the tide of Fenianism that threatens to cause 
the British government j^ears of grievous trouble, an emol- 
lient is administered, in the shape of a bill, for the disestablish- 
ment of the Irish Church; which is as sure as the old Church 
system was, to keep the Irish people divided. Separate the 
rods and they may be broken the more easily, is the policy of 
shrewd John Bull. Stir up religious matters, so that th& dif- 
ferent sects will fight among themselves, instead of uniting in 
the cause which should lie nearest every Irish heart — namely, 
freedom for Ireland, and the people may be made still longer 
to undergo the oppression of British rule. These are Eng- 
land's craftv plans. Why is not something done to relieve 
the "peasantry" of Ireland (as those wretched people are 
poetically termed) ; some revison made of the laws relating to 
the tenure of lands; something that will give bread and 
raiment, and fuel and happiness, as the wages of honest labor 't 
The Church Bill! Who is profited by its passage? Not the ' 
most needy, surel\. Scarcely had the bill been passed, and 
we were promised that all the ills of Ireland had found their 
cure, when the cable brought the news of a sickening case of 
the ejectment, of several families from their poor homes, and 
men, women and children crowded by scores into a cow shed, 
to seek shelter from the winds and the rains. All according 
to law. Of course it was. That is what we complain of. 
Let the laws be so changed, that these wretched people may 
fare better than the ox and the hog. Until Great Britain 
does this, she will find an Irish thorn in her side; and some 
fine morning Johnny Bull will look across the stormy chan- 
nel, to see a green flag waving in the western horizon, and if 
he puts on his spectacles he will find a golden harp on it, too. 



296 BEAUTEOUS KATHLEEN. 



BEAUTEOUS KATHLEEN. 

Fondly I dream of thee, beauteous Kathleen ! 

Fair as the summer's tints, my hearts fair- 
queen ! 

Fair as the morning's light, 
Chasing the gloom of night ! 
Fair as the lily bright, 
Beauteous Kathleen ! 

Honor and Truth are thine, fairest Kathleen : 
Beauty and:grace are thine, Purity's queen : 
Pure as the breeze that blows. 
Where the sweet blue-bell grows ; 
Pure as the winter's snows, 
Beauteous Kathleen ! 

My life is part of thee, much loved Kathleen ! 
Thou sweet rose of memory, dearest Kathleen ; 

Oh ! for one sunny beam, 

Over our lives to stream ; 

Glorious as Freedom's dream ! 
Loveliest Kathleen. 



THE LOST BOTTLE. 297 



• THE LOST BOTTLE. 

Lines on the bottle dropped at sea by Michael O'Connor of 
Cohoes, and picked up by Capt. Payne, on the Massachusetts 
coast. 

Indeed, friend O'Connor, I read all the news, 

'Bout yourself and your ould empty bottle ; 
How you stuck your address, of your home in 
Cohoes, 

Away 'neatli its air-chambered throttle ; 
Were it flung in the deep full of Irish potheen, 

All sparkling and radiant with glory, 
You'd cross o'er again to that Island of Green, 

Before you'd e'er hear of its story. 

Had Capt. Payne found it, with pure Innish- 
owen, 
Filled up to its neck to the stopple, 
As shure as a Connaught-man lives in Athlone, 

You'd never hear more of your bottle; 
Why the shark and the whale would contend 
for the prize ; 
Would set the wild waves in commotion, 
Till Neptune, with Trident, would put out their 
eyes, 
For disturbing his rest 'neath the ocean ! 



298 THE LOST BOTTLE. 

I'll speak for myself, who never was there, 

Who never broke blackthorn wattle — 
I'd go from Cohoes, to sweet Innisfail, 

To get the first squig of that bottle ; 
Its parentage, whether in Cork or Athlone ; 

In Lim'rick, or fair Dublin City ; 
The man who* imbibes it is never alone, 

For his speech is both fluent and witty. 

If the bottle w T ere full sure 'twould drift t'other 
way, 

Along with the stream of the ocean, 
For only such bottles come over to stay. 

Chock full of air and commotion ! 
I envy the Captain who sniffled its perfume, — 

Aromatic as Araby's spices ; 
Of the deep disappointment that settled in 
gloom, — 

Where no longer its nectar entices. 



AILEEN. 299 



AILEEST. 

Air : — " My Lodging is on the Cold Ground." 



There's a beautiful laud, in the ocean away, 

Whose mem'ries oft hallow my dreams ; 
Whose beauties grow bright, as the light of the 
day, 
That breaks o'er its mountains and streams ; 
But the hand of the spoiler brought sorrow 
and death, 
To that sweet sainted Isle o'er the wave ; 
And forced me away, from the home of my 
birth, 
To seek from the stranger a grave. 



&' 



I remember the time, when my heart was as 
bright, 

As the sun-beam that sports o'er its green ; 
When Liberty's song, was my dream and de- 
light, 

And I lived in the love of Aileen ; 
The joy of my life, was to live in her smile, 

And to foster the cause she adored ; 
For next to my Aileen, I loved that Green Isle, 

Where the virtues of nations are stored ! 



300 AILEEN. 

0, lieu dark Hashing eye, had more terrors for 
me, 
Than the red, streaming ranks of the foe; 
Whose gleams were- as swift, as the lightning 
set free, 
Put my heart and my cheeks in a glow ! 
So I promised lair Aileen, her love should in- 
spire, 
The feelings long nursed in my breast; 
To battle for Freedom, to plot, and conspire, 
Till our beautiful Erin was blest. 



Our parting was sweet, as our meeting was 
bright ; 

But the future brought sorrow and gloom ; 
For the day of my pardon to freedom and light. 

Saw my Aileen conveyed to the tomb; 
Her sweet spirit pined, as the years rolled 
away, 

And the dream of her life was unblest ! 
Till her beautiful soul, thro' the portals of day, 

Took its place 'mong the choirs of the blest ! 



TO JAMES CLARENCE MAXOAX. 301 



TO JAMES CLARENCE MANGAX. 

James Clarence Mangan, was born in Dublin in 1803, and 
received his education at an unpretentious school in the 
neighborhood of his lather's grocer shop. At the age of 
fifteen, he was employed as a copyist, in a lawyer's office at 
a small weekly salary. In 1830 his writings to the maga- 
zines and periodicals of the day, attracted wide attention, and 
obtained lor him a position on the topograhical staff of the 
Ordnance Survey, under Dr. Petrie, His writings breathe 
the most fervent sentiment, and lovo of native land. His 
" Nameless One," 

"Roll forth my song like the rushing river 
That sweeps along to the mighty sea." 
is a master piece of poetic effusion. 

Few. if any, of Ireland's gifted sons deserves kinder remem- 
brance in the hearts of his countrymen, than the devoted, 
but unfortunate, Mangan. In the 46th year of his age, he 
was seized with cholera, and died on the 20th of June, 1849, 
three years prior to that of Moore. 

His translations from the Irish, French, German, Spanish, 
Italian, Danish and Eastern languages, were marked by rare 
judgment and taste, and evinced a mind, which, under other 
circumstances, would outstrip his contemporaries. But 
though he died in obscurity and poverty, his writings will 
ever point to his grave, with reverence and love. 

Ill fated bard, how pure the stream 

You gave to Fame ; 
Plow sweetly culled each glowing theme, 

That marks your name ; 
Xo pensioned scribe to tyrant pow'r; 
X o crimson rose in foreign bow'r ; 
In Ireland's deepest, darkest hour, 

You would inflame 
The Mind's best thought, — the noble dower — 

Bright Freedom's aim ! 



302 TO JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. 

Your burning words thro' earth have cried 

For Liberty ; 
Unchecked as Ocean's boundless tide, 

And brave to see ! 
Among the bards of Erin, none 
Have brighter laurels for her spun, — 
The heart's desire — Fair Freedom won, 

For country, 
Your muse glowed fiery as the sun 

Exultingly ! 



Your Roseen Dhu, unchanged remains, 

Sweet child of song ; 
As when you 'd snap her cruel chains 

Of crime and wrong ; 
Thro' Time's dark avenue of years, 
There beams no sunlight thro' her tears ; 
Her days with clouds, and gloom, and fears 

Forever throng ; 
Before the Ruler of the spheres 

Her woes prolong. 



From fervid heart I give to thee 
Renown and praise ; 

Thou gifted son of Liberty, 

Uncrowned thy clays. 



ASPIRATION. 303 

For manhood's rights your pen sped tire ; 

Ennobled every proud desire ; 

Thro' want and sickness soaring higher — 

Undying lays — 
Forging thoughts, that would inspire, 

Man's noblest ways. 



-:o: 



ASPIRATION. 

My native land is fair and bright — 

Beautiful and brave ; 
My native land is full of light, 

Beside the western wave ; 
My native land with flowers is' decked ; 
My native land with beauties specked ; 
My hopes were on its bosom wrecked, 

Ere I would be a slave. 

My native land is filled with love, 

Earnest, fair and true ; 
My native land would gladly prove, 

How much her sons could do ; 
My native land would gladly trace ; 
Unfading as her beauteous face, 
The freedom of her gifted race ; 

With light from heaven above. 



304 ASPIRATION. 

My native land has charms untold, 
Deep hidden in her breast; 

More precious far than gems or gold, 
Or beauty's jeweled crest ; 

Her life is pledged to Liberty ; 

Her Faith is pledged to Sanctity ; 

Her sons as brave on land or sea, 
As fortune e'er caressed. 

My native land will yet arise 

Resplendent as the sun ; 
My native land will pierce the skies. 

With deeds of valor done ; 
My native land will yet be free, 
As is the bird that skims her sea, — 
The glorious home of Liberty, 

And long sought honors won. 



RELIGIOUS POEMS. 



-:o:- 



THE PRESENCE OF GOD. 

The morning of Life, how bright and fair, 

Unclouded, and pure, and blest ; 
How free from the sorrow, and grief, and care, 

That flow thro' the aged breast; 
"Whilst youth is my portion here below, 

And its skies look bright and clear ; 
May streams of Love from its bosom flow, 

To the God who is ever near ! 

Around the heart, what memories cling, 

As we journey thro' the years ; 
And some are bright, as an angel's wing, 

And some of them wet with tears ! 
The' sunshine of youth too soon is fled, 

And the threat'ning clouds appear, 
Whose silver-lining is seen o'erhead, 

Whenever my God is near ! 



306 DEATH. 

Temptations will come, but the soul secure, 

And watchful, and brave, and bold, 
Unsullied shall rise, as fair and pure, 

As the glints of shining gold ! 
The pleasures of life, are false and few, — 

Their heritage, but a tear ! 
The j come as the siren, fair to view, — 

Before God, they disappear ! 

If age must come, and the weary years 

Should gather around my life ; 
I know that an angel will dry the tears, 

I'll shed in the bitter strife ; 
And when the dread summons shall break the 
gloom, 

The timid have met with fear ! 
I'll welcome the herald that bears my doom. 

For I know my God is near ! 



-:o:- 



DEATH. 

He speeds on the wings of the morning ! 

He pierces the depths of the night ! 
His presence is felt without warning — 

As shadow pursuing the light ! 



DEATH. 307 

His promise fulfilled to the lowly, 

As those who on velvet recline ; 

His promptings, exalted and holy, 

Would make all our actions divine ! 

Unpurchased his power, as the glory 

That beams on our souls from on high ; 
The legend of Time, grim and hoary, 

" That all who are born must die ! " 
He bears thro' the scroll of the ages, 

Unquestioned, unfettered, and brave : 
To the thoughtles as well as the sages, 

His finger e'er points to the grave ! 

The proud of the earth bend before him ; 

The beauty of earth are his prey ; 
The child who would gladly adore him, 

As an angel is borne away ; 
He gathers fair flowers for heaven, 

Bedewed by a mother's fond tears ; 
Where virtue and goodness have striven, 

He bears them away thro' the spheres ! 

The present is ever his morrow, — 

To the tardy the future is dear. — 
Unrepentant — a respite would borrow 

When the Angel of Death 's standing near : 
In that exquisite moment of sorrow, 

Ere the dart of the slayer is sped, 
What would we not give for the morrow, 

With all its bright glories outspread ! 



308 CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 



CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 

Sing ! grateful hearts the praise of Him, 
Who lit the Star of Bethlehem ! 
Who leads the choirs of Seraphim, 

With rapturous song divine ! 
On this transcendent Night of nights ! 
Our souls are filled with strange delights 
As those who saw on Thabor's heights, 

His wondrous glories shine ! 

Upon this Night celestial choirs, 
Break forth in song, that never tires ! 
Supernal as the heavenly fires 

That thro' the ages roll ! 
From star to star, the shining host ; 
Sing, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! 
In strains whose thrills are never lost, 

Upon the thirsting soul ! 



On this fair Night the shepherds bent, 
At voice of the Omnipotent ! 
Their steps where Heaven its Treasure sent,- 
Of priceless love untold ! 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 309 



Fair Zion's Daughter on this night, 
Gave earth her Star of fadeless light ! 
The Rose of Sharon, gleaming bright ! 
By prophets sung and told ! 

Exalted Night ! when Serpent's head 
Was crushed beneath the Virgin's tread 
Of Jesse's root— The Living Bread 

Announced thro' earth and sky ! 
On this great Night man rose redeemed, 
As fair as star that o'er him beamed ! 
Baptized anew, in love that streamed, 

In glory from on high ! 



-:o: 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. . 

There is a day— a bright fair day, 

That comes to crown the year ; 
When joy and song, and endless praise 

To God, sound far and near ; 
Of all the days that roll along 

O'er Time's unerring course, 
Glad Christmas is the fairest one, 

That sparkles at his source. 



310 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

Thro' the clear crisp air of winter, 

When the world looks chill and drear. 
The merry bells are pealing forth 

Their anthems sweet and clear ; 
Gloria in Excelsis Deo ! 

To Him who reigns on high, 
Is heard thro' earth and heaven, — 

The angels song of joy. 

Who does not love fair Christmas ! 

The harbinger of joy, 
When God sent down His only Son, 

Eternal, from on high ; 
To loose our souls from bondage ; 

To till our hearts with cheer, 
On this transcendent morning, — 

The brightest of the year ? 

He comes, the joy of angels, 

To gladden this fair earth ; 
The brightest star of heaven 

Shines o'er His place of birth ; 
And yet more fair that mother, 

Than Bethlehem's glorious star, — 
The spotless Queen of Heaven, — 

More beautiful by far. 

Bring forth the yew and ivy, 
With holly branch between, 

To deck the altars of each church 
With garlands fresh and green ; 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 311 

Sound, sound the pealing organ, 

Sing, sing the tuneful choir, 
Of " peace on earth to all good men, 

Whose souls to God aspire." 

Venite Adoremus ! 

Pervades the earth and sky; 
Venite Adoremus ! 

Celestial voices cry ; 
Thro' jasper halls empyrean, 

To lowliest cot of earth, 
The heavenly courts resplendent, 

Sing out the Saviour's birth. 

A happy, happy Christmas, 

Our prayerful wish shall be, 
To those whose souls are cleansed from sin 

Thro' God's nativity ; 
Of all the days that bless the year, 

Be this the fairest gem, 
That comes to cheer the winter's gloom. 

With joyous song and hymn. 



012 WHO 'll roll back the stone. 



WHO 'LL BOLL BACK THE STOKE ? 



" For an angel of the Lord descended from Heaven, and 
coming, rolled back the stone and sat upon it. "—Matt, 
xxviii : 1-7 verses. 



Here, with my heart, with its thoughts alone, 

I think of that morning fair ; 
When the Angel of God rolled back the stone — 

And shone in his glory there. 

Conception of light, to the darkened soul, 

Obscured by the cloud of sin, 
That fain would battle to reach the goal, 

Where the angel shines within. 

Conception of light, to the w^eary heart, 
Oppressed 'neath its load of care ; 

Would from its burden of woes depart 
To the breast of its God, in prayer. 

Would roll the stone of Oppression back, 

From the sepulcher of the mind ; 
Would follow the light of the Angel's track, 

With a purpose unconfined. 



CASTING THE STONE. 313 

How many there are who roll the stone, 

Of sorrow and gloom and tears ; 
Which darken the path, where the sunlight 
shone, 

On the joys of the fading years. 

If man were an Angel of Light to man, 

Untrammeled he'd tread alone : 
As bright, as when first his life began, 

When the Angel rolled the stone. 

If man were an angel that rolled the stone, 
From the breast of his fellow-man, 

How bright that path to the Heavenly Throne, 
Where the years are but a span. 



CASTING THE STOKE. 

He that is without sin among you let him cast a stone at 
h er. — J ohn viii : 1-11. 

How few, if any, dare cast the stone, 
Whose souls are not stained by sin ; 

How few, if any, to Him are known, 
Whose conscience is pure within. 



314 CASTING THE STONE. 

How few, if any, dare tread alone 

The intricate path of life ; 
Without God's mercy to cast the stone, 

That arms our hearts for the strife. 

How few, if any, dare judge the hearts, 
Of those whom our souls despise ; 

When the King of Kings His mercies darts 
From the brow of the farthest skies ! 

For man's vain judgment is w T eak indeed, 
When measured against the skill, 

Of Him, who treasures His creatures' need, 
In the depths of His mighty will. 

May the Finger of God the pardon trace, 

In the Book of Living Light ; 
In letters of Mercy, of Love and Grace 

When this world recedes from sight. 

Oh ! may the command, which the Master gave, 

To favor, our hearts restore, 
That passing o'er life's dark surging wave, 

We may go and sin no more. 



PRAYER. 315 



PRAYER. 

Heaven's fair fruit ! the thirsting soul 
Receives its draught of bliss from thee ; 

Invisible, thy sweet control 

Revokes the wrath of Heaven's decree ! 

In doubt or sorrow, care or grief, 
A refuge thou, secure and fair ; 

You bring the weary heart relief, — 
For soothing is the balm of Prayer ! 

You penetrate the darkest cloud, 
And show beyond a vista bright ! 

To Nature's God you cry aloud ! 
And pierce the ebon arch of night ! 

Enfranchised, as the beam of morn, 
Your heavenly purpose fair and pure ; 

Of God's transcendent glories born, — 
His promised joys, you would secure. 

As is the rain drop to the sod ; 

As is the sun-beam to the rose ; 
Thro' Nature's depths, the voice of God, 

Around the soul mysterious glows ! 



316 BENEVOLENCE. 

There is no heart however cold ; 

There is no soul however dead ; 
That does not beam with love untold, 

When your fair light is round them shed ! 



-:o:- 



BENEVOLEtfCE. 



DEDICATED TO THE C. B. L. 



He who would help his fellow man ; — 
Would band with him as brother, 

Is true to Heaven's eternal plan, — 
Assisting one another. 

He who would raise the lowly up — 
Would save the heart from sinking, 

Drinks deep of ^Nature's genial cup, — 
God's sacred precepts linking. 

There beams a glory round the soul, 
Of him, whose words would sever, 

The passions, which our hearts control, 
Would loose our bonds forever. 

Society, protecting, pure ! 

Ennobling and fraternal ; 
Would our best hopes on earth secure, 

Beyond, a life eternal ! 



BENEVOLENCE. 317 

Would chase the clouds of want and strife, 
From those whose loves we cherish, — 

The helpless babe, the patient wife, 
Oh ! would we have them perish ? 

Whose counsels would our lives enhance ; — 

Would dry the tears of sorrow, 
Are cheering as the beams that glance 

From rounded sun to-morrow ! 

The sacred bonds that bind us here, 

The children of one Mother, 
Make us to one another dear ; — 

As brother is to brother. 

To God and creed and country true, — 

The pioneers of Freedom ; 
Who would the paths of men pursue ; — 

Would from their pitfalls lead them. 

To them be honor, worth and praise, 

Beyond the Pen's endeavor ; 
Their glorious work with length of days, 

And goodness beaming ever! 



318 THE PALM PALM SUNDAY. 



THE PALM— PALM SUNDAY. 

Emblem of praise and victory — 

As conquest of the soul o'er sin : 
Our thoughts to-day triumphantly 

Arise, where angels' songs begin ! 
Hosanna to Great David's Son ! 

The heavens resound the glorious strain 
Give praise to God for conquest won — 

Eternal as Jehovah's reign ! 

No captive bears He in His train ; 

No victor's spoils, no trophied weal ; 
No bruised heart, no maddened brain 

-Are crushed beneath His chariot wheel. 
Hosannas ring ! glad voices shout! 

The heavens with joy are filled to-day; 
The Prince of Peace dispels all doubt ; 

Then strew palm branches in His way. 

No costly trappings, — prancing steed, — 
His heavenly victories proclaim ; 

No glitt'ring heralds Him precede, 
To shout the Great Messiah's name ! 



THE AGONY. 319 

Arrayed in robes of purity, — 

The olive branch and palm combine, 

To sing the (loci of Mystery, — 
In all His attributes divine. 

Herald of conquest and of love, 

Thou com'st to crown the Easter morn ; 
Thou bear'st garlands from above, 

To deck the brow of man new born. 
What memories thine, O, Christian heart : 

That thro' the years has bourne the palm ; 
Who sees the clouds of heaven part, 

In joy, eternal, sweet, and calm ! 



-:o:- 



THE AGONY. 

The Pasch was over, that glorious feast, 
With God the Son as its first High Priest ; 
The time had come when that Patient God 
Should tread the steps by no man ere trod ; 
When the Law and the Prophets' dreaded ban 
Should break on the Life of the Son of Man ; 
When the Fiat of God, to sin allied, 
Would on the morrow be ratified ; 
When the traitor that dipped his hand that day, 
In the dish with Him, would His life betray ; 



320 THE AGONY. 

But woe to the traitor, whose thirst for gold, 
And sordid heart, his great Master sold ! 

A hymn was sung ere they bent their way, 
To that hallowed spot, Gethsemane ; 
Transcendent hymn, when the world's Desire, 
Gave forth the words, and then led the choir : 
When the Joy of heaven, the Light of earth, 
Broke forth in praise of our glorious birth ; 
Had pierced the depths of the farthest bound, 
To Him, the " Ancient of Days," profound. 

As evening's shadows begin to fall 
O'er God's fair city renowned o'er all ; 
The Promised of nations wends His way 
To that loved retreat, Gethsemane ; 
To drink the Chalice of Sin and Death, 
And fulfil the Law with His latest breath. 

The Syrian sun had drawn his beam, 

From Cedron's brook and from Jordan's stream; 

Had crested the brow of Olives, fair, 

Where the Author of Life now kneels in pray'r : 

Had hurried his course o'er Libanus' height, 

And lit fair Tyre in his golden light ; 

Then sinking beneath the ocean's breast, 

Rolled his fiery car to the distant west. 

His glorious eyes now rest upon, 

Peter and James, and the much loved John ; 



THE AGONY. 321 

These does He ask to watch and pray, 
Ere the Tempter should. steal their hearts away ; 
This said, He leaves them — then prostrate falls, 
On the troubled earth, and there loudly calls, 
On Him the Father of Love and Light, 
Who reigns supreme in empyrean height ; 
On Him the Father whose Throne is sought, 
In vain on the w T ings of human thought ; 
That the chalice of wrath should pass away 
From His sinless hands, on that dreadful day. 

For His soul is heavy, and drops of blood, 
On His glorious face and body stood; 
For the sins of man, as the temptests course, 
Oppress His soul with their hideous force; 
For the sins of man, must the mandate fill, 
And bow His head to His Father's will. 

Thrice does He seek His beloved the while, 
To find them asleep 'neath the Tempter's guile ; 
As tho' the Father of Life and Light 
Would shield His Beloved from mortal sight. 
And now He tells them to " Rest and sleep," 
For the hour had come with horrors deep ! 
When His sinless life should atone for all, 
That sinned from the time of Adam's fall. 

Already the traitor is on his way. 

Who will the Light of the world betray; 



822 CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 

Already his voice in the Garden 's heard; 
Already the branches around are stirred ; 
Already he kisses the Master's cheek; 
Already the rabble around Him break; 
Already in demon strife and sport, 
He 's hurried along to Caiphas' court. 



:o:- 



CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 

How paint that fearful grouping ; 

That surging throng of hate, 
That gathered its frenzied numbers, 

Before the Praetor's gate. 

How paint those hideous faces, 
That glower as things of Doom ; 

On their meek and patient Captive, 
Whose fires the heavens illume. 

Thro' the streets of that mighty eity,- 
Where once Jehovah trod, 

The rabble of death is speeding; 
Their victim — the Son of God. 

In view of that Sacred Temple, 

That gems Moria's brow ; 
And Zion of the " Just One,"— 

Is silent watcher now. 



CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 323 

" Vision of Peace " they called thee ! 
Thou city without compare ; 
1 In days of the kings and prophets, 
When thy joys were bright and fair. 

When thy daughters struck their tabors, 

With harp and lute among ; 
And their cymbals crashed the glory, 

Of Israel's joyous song. 

But thy vision of peace is over, 
And havoc, and death, and gloom, 

Surround God's favored city, — 

That treasured the Psalmist's tomb. 

" City of God " they called thee, 
But that name from thee is fled, 

And the paeans that woke its glories 
Into life, are forever dead. 

The Praetorium Hall is entered, 
By that surging, seething throng, 

Fierce as the waves of ocean 
When the tempest rolls along. 

As the waves that break in fury, 

O'er rocks 'neath ocean hid, 
The swell of vengeance gathers 

In terror and woe amid. 



824 CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 

Ill vain the judge is pleading, 
For the Captive's stainless life ; 

In vain he seeks to pardon 
The innocent cause of strife. 

In vain he tries to smother, . 

Their savage cry for blood ; 
For the Fiat of God is stronger 

Than the pleadings their hearts withstood. 

Lowly and meekly bending, 

In vesture of spotless white ; 
He hears the cruel sentence, 

That opens the gates of light, 

~No murmur of wrong escapes Him, 
For His mission is one of love ; 

And the cruel gibes of malice, 
Arise to the throne above. 

And the words of crucifixion, — 

Those thrilling words of fear, 
Are heard in the highest heavens, 

And borne from sphere to sphere. 

~Now wash your hands, 0, Pilate, 
That no stain of guilt remains; 

For the " Fruit of Man's Redemption " 
Has snapped the Tyrant's chains. 



CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 325 

Let the guilty now have freedom ; 

Let the sinless die the death ; 
Let Barahas howl your fury, 

With foul and fetid breath. 

Away to the scourge and pillar ; 

Away to Golgatha's height: 
But the gloom and the strife you gather, 

Will break into floods of light. 

And your crime, where will it find you, 
In the hour of your direst woe; 

When your towers, and walls, and ramparts, 
Shall fall 'neath the Roman foe. 

When havoc, and death, and famine, 
Shall compass thee round about ; 

And the din of strife and battle, 

Shall belch from each savage mouth ? 

In that hour of dread and terror, 
When thy myriad hosts are slain, 

Will arise no voice of pity, 
To mourn your cry of pain. 

In that hour of desolation, 

When no hand is raised to save ; 

And your proud and godless city, 
Is as one upturned grave. 



326 THE SEVEN DOLORS. 

When your valor and pride are broken, 
And those who shall find no graves, 

Are banished arid cursed forever, 
And borne away as slaves. 



THE SEVEN DOLORS. 

THE CIRCUMCISION. 

Obedient to the Mosiac Code, 
The Sacred blood of Jesus flowed ! 
Sinless and pure, His mother's heart 
Is pierced by grief's first poignant dart ! 

THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

Unsheltered 'neath Egyptian sun, 

She flies to save the Holy One, 

From Herod's murderous decree, 

Inspired of God, protecting ; 

Her sainted spouse, o'er desert sands, 

Attends her flight, at Heaven's commands. 

LOST IN THE TEMPLE. 

Three days her heart with grief is wrung 
At loss of Him, eternal sprung! 
Untiring in her search is she, 
Of Heaven's fair Fruit the Mystery ! 



THE SEVEN DOLORS. 327 

Whilst He would Heaven's fair seed instil, 
Obedient to His Father's Will. 

CARRYING THE CROSS. 

What words can bring her soul relief; 
What balm assuage its wounds and grief; 
When she, the Virgin, ever blessed 
Beholds her Son with woes oppressed ; 
Bearing the Cross of sin and shame, 
As tho' His life was one of blame. 

THE DEATH. 

Shut out the dull deep sounds of dread ! 

When God the Son with Hands outspread ; 

And sacred Feet, transfixed and torn, 

Are of their grace and beauty shorn ! 

Shut out the hammer's cruel thud ! 

That nailed their glories to the wood. 

Shut out the THIRSTING, DYING GOD ! ! ! 

JESUS TAKEN DOWN FROM THE CROSS. 

Disfigured, bleeding, Heaven appeased ! 
She sees His Hands and Feet released ! 
God's fairest Promise, pierced and torn ! 
Is from the Cross unpitying borne ! 
Is now a mother's sainted care, 
Her grief, her sorrow, and her prayer ! 



328 THE VIA DOLOROSA. 



THE BURIAL. 



She sees Him borne to the grave, 
Who came on earth, Man's soul to save ! 
She sees the stone, its mouth conceal, 
Securely hound with Caesar's seal ! 
The joy that Heaven vouchsafed to hel- 
ls now entombed in Sepuleher. 



-:o:- 



THE VIA DOLOROSA. 

I STATION. 

Christ sentenced to Death. 

Profound Oh ! God of wondrous mystery ; — 
Whose blood was shed, that man redeemed 

should be ; 
We see Thee sentenced to a cruel death . 
Amid the jeers, and scoffer's shouts of mirth. 

II STATION. 

Jesus bears His Gross. 
Inestimable love ! Supremely blest ! 
When we behold our Saviour's shoulders press- 
ed, 
By the dark burden of our direful sins, 
AVhose heavy weight, at Calvary's foot begins. 



TILE VIA DOLOROSA. 820 

III STATION. 

Jesus falls the first time under the Cross. 

Fair Light of heaven, whose mysteries appall : 
Whose praise is sung by Seraphim o'er all. 
AVe now behold Thee, as in weakness prone, 
Beneath the Cross, that should be ours alone. 

IV STATION. 

Jesus meets His Blessed Mother. 
What. mind conceives the anguish and the woe 
Before unfelt by mother here below ; 
When she, the Virgin, fairer than the morn. 
Beholds her Son, with angry lashes torn ! 

V STATION. 

Simon of Qryene helps Jesus carry His Cross. 
Could we with Simon blest, of Cvrene, 
Thread the dark road that leads to Calvary : 
Could we assist our Saviour to the mount, 
To drink unstinted drafts from heavenly fount. 

VI STATION. 

Jesus and Veronica. 
Veronica — what pity touched thee now, 
To wipe sin's terrors from the Master's brow ? 
Pure as thy soul, that linen cloth shall trace. 
The beauteous imprint of His glorious face. 



330 THE VIA DOLOROSA. 

VII STATION. 

Jesus falls the second time. 

He falls once more, 0, crushing weight of 
grief, 

Send down just Heaven, swift comfort and re- 
lief; 

The earth appalled, would hide the precious 
load, 

And in her breast would find some sweet abode. 



VIII STATION. 

Jesus comforts the women of Jerusalem. 

We now behold Him, fainting, bleeding, torn ; — 
Of all His beauty and His splendor shorn ; 
Comforting those whose tears for Him would 

now; 
Whose pitying hearts would enter in His woe. 



IX STATION. 

Jesus falls a third time. 

Exhausted Nature, weeping and aghast ! 

Sees her Great Master, bruised and torn and 

lashed; 
Unpitying earth beholds that glorious Form, 
Prostrate and weak, as dove before the storm. 



THE VIA DOLOROSA. 331 

X STATION. 

Jesus is Stripped of His Clothes. 

O, sacred Flesh ! we see the blood rent scars, 
Whose dark red hue, the God of Nature mars : 
We see Him stripped beneath the clear blue 

sky, 

Prepared to journey to His home on high. 



XI STATION. 

Jesus is Nailed to the Cross. 

O, Sun of heaven, hasten thou thy course; 
And thou, 0, Earth relax thy wheeling force ; 
The God that gave ye beauties to admire, 
Who guid'st thine orbits thro' celestial fire : 
Whose word unerring ne'er thro' Time has 

failed, 
Is now on earth, as malefactor nailed ! 



XII STATION. 

Jesus Dies. 

We now behold Him, pierced, and torn and 

dead, 
His priceless Blood for man's redemption shed ; 
Forgiving, meek, dying, as God sh'd die ; 
Breathing His soul in prayer to Him on high. 



332 THE VIA DOLOROSA. 

XIII STATION. 

Jesus taken down from the Cross. 
Now take Him Mary to your sainted breast, 
Whose infant bands you tenderly caressed ; 
Press those cold lips that spoke their bliss to 

thee, 
From Bethlehem's crib to fateful Calvary : 
Kiss those sweet wounds, whose rosy mouths 

have given 
That precious tide, that cleansed our souls for 

heaven. 

XIV STATION. 

Jesus is /aid in (lie Tomb. 
And now the last sad scene, announced of old, 
From lips of God, thro' prophet sung and told : — 
The price, betrayal, crucifixion, all, 
For sins of Man committed from the Fall : 
The buffets, stripes, the seamless coat there 

spoken ; 
The precious Body, pierced, but yet unbroken ; 
All, all, prefigured, heaven's atonement made 
For sins of man, by Blood of Jesus paid! 

Now bear His body, fresh from spice and myrrh, 
To the dark chamber of the sepulcher ; 
Where never man in Death's embrace had 

slept, 
By God designed — for His Beloved kept. 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 333 

Roll your great stone against its mouth, and 

then, 
Shout, shout your triumph to the sons of men : — 
But God triumphant over Death and Sin 
Will on the morrow break its fastening; 
Will roll the stone of Death ! ! Far, far, away. 
Beyond the glories of His brightest day ! 



■:o:- 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 

Here, where the Evening gathers 
Her shadows of gloom around, 

Have they raised the Cross of Jesus, 
Erect from the grassy mound. 

Here, where the skull of Adam, 
By Melchisedech's hand was laid: 

Have they raised that glorious Form, 
Whose beams the heavens pervade. 

Over that brow of splendor, 

That shone as the mid-day sun; 

The atoning blood is streaming, 
The conflict o'er Death is won. 



384 THE CRUCIFIXION. 

And the sacred hands that ever, 
The blessings of life bestowed, 

To the blind, the lame, and stricken, 
Are nailed to the cruel wood. 

Mute are those lips that uttered, 
Words which no tongue ere told ; 

Pierced is that heart that kindled, 
With treasures of love untold. 

And those feet that glowed on Thabor, 
Transfixed is their beauty now ; 

Whose imprints left their glory, 
On Olivet's favored brow. 

Here stands His sacred Mother — 
The Virgin surpassing fair, 

Pierced with a sword of sorrow, 
The mirror of grief and prayer. 

Here the " Beloved Disciple," 
Who lay on the Master's Breast, 

When the Bread of Life was broken, 
And the Chalice of Life was blest. 

The Magdalene lowly kneeling, 
With penitent tears and grief, 

Kisses the Cross that bears Him, 

Whose words brought her soul relief. 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 335 

Here the beloved Salome, 

The mother of James and John, 

Would fain divide the anguish, 
That presses each heart upon. 

And this is the pomp and glory, 
That heaven vouchsafes to Him, — 

Prince of the Shining Cohorts ; 
Light of the Seraphim ! 

Where now the myriad voices, 
That shouted His name in praise ? 

Where now the joy and splendor, 
That beamed on the God of Days ? 

Alas ! and alas ! how lonely, 

Is all His following now ; 
Who stood as a God transfigured, 

On Thabor's hallowed brow. 

Only four tireless watchers, 

Are all that are left to bear, 
The grief of Earth and Heaven ; 

Its unknown bliss to share. 

Only four tireless watchers, 

Are left of that surging throng ; 

That strewed His path with branches, — 
That shouted His name in sons; ] 



336 THE CRUCIFIXION. 

JEloi, lamina sabathani — 

Are the dying words of Him ; 

The joy of the Saints and Angels; 
The Crown of the Cherubim. 

The troubled earth upheaving; 

The Veil of the Temple rent ^ 
Are the angry signs from heaven, 

For the blood of the Lamb besprent. 

His Mission of love is ended ; 

His blood for Man is shed ; 
And that Form of heavenly splendor 

Is numbered among the dead. 

Now draw your guards around Him ; 

Encompass His body there ; 
For His Soul supreme in glory 

To the Prophets and Saints repair. 

There, where the sin of Adam 
Consigned their souls to rest, 

Is found the Son of Mary, 

With Freedom and Light confessed. 

And with Him the thief, that chiding, 
The scoffer of Heaven's decree ; 

Forever with Him abiding, — 
In o-lorv eternally. 



THE RESURRECTION. 887 



THE RESURRECTION. 

This and the succeeding poem were suggested hy Rev. J. F 
Lowery's heautiful sermon on the Resurrection. 

The Syrian sun, with golden beam, 
Now shone o'er Jordan's gloomy stream ; 
Now lit Mount Thabor's favored crest, 
Forever, and forever blessed. 

Asphaltites* — in grim surprise, — 
Beneath where Moab's mountains rise, 
Reflects the glorious orb of day, 
In ebon smiles and ghastly play ; 
Now glints thy waters, fair to sec, 
Tiberias and Galilee. 

Its glittering beams, a diadem, 

Of glory lit Jerusalem ; 

Then passing over Cedron's Brook, 

Shone o'er the path the Saviour took, 

The evening that He went to pray, 

To that loved spot, Gethsemane. 

But ere that sun its radiance shed, 
O'er Jordan's vale or Thabor's head ; 

* A name for the Dead Sea 



338 THE RESURRECTION. 

The Magdelene is on her way, 
To where the Saviour's body lay ; 
And in her sainted company 
The mother of John — fair Salome. 

The gloomy streets are silent now, 

As Horeb's peak or Zion's brow ; 

The Roman sentinels, who kept 

The guarded post, have long since slept ; 

Whilst over all a pall is spread, 

Significant of coming dread ; 

Prophetical of direful woe, — 

Of Salem's* crime and overthrow; 

When Titus shall with sword and flame 

Bring fierce destruction on thy name ; 

Plow up those streets, where pomp and pride, 

Had urged them to a deicide. 

Sweet spices do they bring, and balm 

The Saviour's body to embalm ; 

And as they tread their way alone, 

They ask, " Who '11 roll us back the Stone ? " 

For a great stone they could not stir, 

Was rolled against the Sepulcher ; 

Securely sealed with Csesar's Seal, 

Ere they that glorious form should steal. 



* The ancient name of Jerusalem. 



THE RESURRECTION. 330 

And now the Marys reach the Tomb, 
As morning's beams dispel the gloom ; 
With wondrous joj they now behold 
The mighty fastening backward rolled ! 
Within, an angel clad in white, 
Resplendent as the morning's light ! 
With trembling awe they reach the place 
Where Jesus lay, an empty space ; 
Whilst the white cloths His body bound, 
In careful folds lay on the ground. 

The perfumed treasure which they brought: 
The mighty love with which they sought 
The "Man of Sorrows," — Christ their God, 
Beatified the place they trod. 

" He whom ye seek," the angel said 
" Is risen ! " is no longer dead. 
" Go seek ye Peter, much loved John, 
And tell them of the risen One. 
Go tell them, and the rest, that Pie 
Xow ffoes before to Galilee." 



340 LIFE IX DEATH. 



LIFE IN DEATH. 

The tiny seed that "s dropped to earth 

Shall wither and decay, 
To give its beauteous offspring birth, 

And life its joyous May. 

The rose shall shed its sweet perfume, — 
Shall die, and pass away ; • 

But summer comes in all its bloom, 
With tints as bright and gay. 

From death to life all nature springs, — 

The seasons come and go ; 
The butterfly on gorgeous wings, 

From chrysalis doth glow. 

The eagle piercing yonder cloud, 

Majestic in his flight; 
Emerges from his ovum shroud, 

To bathe his wings in light. 

Immutable as God's decree, 
Or sun that mounts the sky, 

That Death gives life to all we see, 
That living: thing's shall die. 



EASTER SUNDAY. o4L 

E'en Man to Nature's law must yield, — 

Must perish and decay, 
As do the lilies of the field 

Until the Judgment Day. 

Transcendent day when Time shall end, 
When Death shall be no more; 

Supernal One, be thou our friend 
To reach that Heavenly Shore. 

O, may our bodies glorious rise, 

Impassible and blest; 
From star to star through azure skies. 

To find eternal rest. 



-:o:- 



EASTER SUNDAY. 

Sweet Easter day, — the Christian's hope, — 

Breaks in the East, as Bethlehem's star ; 
Then bending westward, points its rays, 

O'er ocean's wave, to climes afar ; 
We stand beside the Sepulcher, 

In all the glow of Syrian sun ; 
We bring sweet spikenard and myrrh, — 

The soul, from earth's illusions won. 



342 EASTER SUNDAY. 

Subdued before the angel choir, — 

Before that endless song of praise, 
Whose strains of glory never tire ; — 

We stand before the God of Days : 
Celestial beam that lights the soul ; 

That tills the earth with wond'rous love ; 
Thro' gloom and death its glories roll, 

A reflex of the joys above. 

The feeble pen can ill portray 

This feast of joy. beyond compare ; 
The soul's fair hymn is Easter day, 

That wafts its perfume on the air ; 
Where'er the light of God pervades, 

This day transcends in ecstacy — 
Its ros}^ beam o'er earth ne'er fades — 

Of heavenly choirs, the symphony ! 

From Thabor's height, o'er Jordan's stream ,- 

Where'er the foot of Jesus trod ; 
There comes a voice of bliss supreme, 

That would adore the waj-s of .God ; 
The Light that shown on Thabor's brow ; 

That darkly paled on Calvary, 
Sits radiant in the heavens now, 

Eternal in His majesty! 

The Resurrection and the Life ; 

The Dove of Hope and promise true, 
This day would end the demon strife, 

The powers of Darkness plan for you : 



EASTER THOUGHTS. 343 

Eternal as the angels' song, 

The voice of God is ever near : 
Thro' all our life it rolls along, 

And fills our souls with rapture here. 

Then hasten we as Magdalene, 

Ere sun of heaven lights the sky ; 
Let 's seek the Sepulcher where lay 

The Son of God supreme on high. 
Let's seek the Eucharist of Love, 

Wherein our joy and bliss are found, 
That we may live with Him above, 

Whose love for us no thought can bound. 



-:o:- 



EASTER THOUGHTS. 

Where the sun in its splendor adorns the East, 
And its light on my cold heart is beaming ; 

In rapturous awe would I dare look on high, 
Where its radiant glories are streaming. 

I think of that morning, where, far o'er the wave, 
Near the walls of God's favorite city, 

The bright One of glory arose from the grave, 
Where the pure-hearted laid Him in pity. 



844 EASTER THOUGHTS. 

I hear the sweet song as the swash of the sea — 
The light-feathered wing of the ocean, 

Whose soft thrilling strains were as soothing 
to me, 
As Prayer to the soul of Devotion ! 

And I gather my thoughts to that morning of 
light — 
The promise that breaks all our sorrow — 
That morning; that woke o'er the earth with 
delight, 
And that gave unto lite its to-morrow. 

And songs of the angels sink deep in my breast, 
As their symphonies swell the glad measure ; 

Whose sweet Alleluias are heard in the west — 
The Easter's glad tidings and treasure. 

In this sweet hour of calm, when our senses 
arise, 

As the perfume that floats round the altar; 
Would we ask the Arisen, a place in the skies ! 

Tho' in asking, our spirits should falter. 

As the incense that floats from the censer to- 
night ; 

Or the faint flush that crimsons the morning ; 
May our lives be as pure and as full of delight, 

As the promise that waits their adorning. 



THE ASCENSION. 345 



THE ASCENSION. 



The golden sun's unclouded beam, 

A flood of glory, brightly set, 
Thro' heaven's arch, doth brightly stream. 

To light the brow of Olivet ; 
Whereon this day, triumphantly, 
The God of immortality, 
Ascends supreme thro' realms of light, 

To Him, whose joy is as the sun ; — 
From yonder stone He takes His flight ; 

From whence His sorrows first begun ; 
The imprints of that Foot divine 
Upon that stone, as glory, shine ! 

Behold Him now, Jerusalem ! 

Beyond thy gates, in splendor rise ! 
The Ever-glorious Son of Him 

Whose throne is set beyond the skies ! 
See Golgotha, thy victory ! 
See Thabo r ! See Gethsemane ! 
The heavenly courts to-day are stirred 

With Alleluia, and with song ; 
From sphere to sphere seraphic heard 

The rushing joys, that sweep along; 
To-day invisible with Him, 
The just arise, to bliss supreme ! 



346 THE ASCENSION. 

Behold Him now ! ye sons of men : — 

The " Man of Sorrows," and of cure, 
Triumphant rise o'er Death and Sin, 

Thro' yielding waves of amber air! 
Ye, whose Faith has wavered here ; — 
Whose doubts have caused the Master's tear : 
Behold Him now ! and say if e'er 

A shadow o'er your souls shall rest ; 
Eternal, as the voice of Prayer, 

That glorious sight their depths has blest ! 
Behold Him Heaven ! Behold Him Earth ! 
Creation's Light! Its Life ! Its Birth ! 

Behold Him, ye whose steps have trod ! 

The thorn-crowned road of grief and pain ; 
Behold the glory of your God 

Ascending to His bright domain ! 
Behold Him Mary, ever blest, — 
Behold the joy that rilled your breast; 
All is prepared to welcome thee, 

The brightest star in heaven's sheen ; 
He goes before in brilliancy, 

To welcome thee, — Celestial Queen — 
As is the dawn that breaks the night, 
He goes before, in Love and Light. 



THE DESCENT- OF THE HOLY GHOST. 347 



THE DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST. 

The Author of Sanctity and Grace ! 

Descends this day with gifts of Love ; 
The studded depths of heaven trace 

His wondrous flight thro' orbs that move ! 
Supernal, as the joys he brings, — 
Redeeming draughts from heavenly springs. 

Ten days have sped since Jesus' Feet, 

Rested their last, on Olivet ! 
And now thro' Heaven the Paraclete 

Descends, where Juda's star has set ! 
To tire the tongues of those who saw 
The Son of Man fulfill the Law ! 

On this great day of sanctity, 

The heart o'erflows with joy and love ! 

For endless Grace and Purity 

Vouchsafed by Him who reigns above ! 

On this great day was ratified 

The Law for which the Saviour died. 



348 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

On this great day Jerusalem, 

Ts thronged with myriads from afar, 

To celebrate the Will of Him 

Who spoke thro' Sinai's cloud and jar! 

On this great day, with tongues of fire, 

He bids the Mosaic Code expire ! 

Each in his tongue is taught the Law, 
For which the Saviour toiled and bled ! 

The Mede and Parthian nearer draw 
To Peter, by the Spirit led ! 

In language hitherto unheard 

The Greek and Roman heart is stirred. 

On this great day was sanctified, 

The One True Church of Christ on earth; 
On this great day beatified 

The Chosen Twelve ! — fair Heaven's birth ! 
On this great day Three Thousand Hearts 
Were pierced by Faith's mysterious darts ! 



:<>:- 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

The tireless struo-o-le of a Christian soul, 

Fiuds rest at last from earthly cares and 
strife ; 

Eternity, her curtain does unroll, 

And shows the passage to a fairer dife ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 349 

Inexorable Death ! where falls thy dart, — 
Whether in youth, or riper years of prime, 

To us unknown — for counselor thou art, 
To thy grim work — thou ravager of time. 

Home do you find impatient at thy stay, — 
Prepared to journey to a brighter shore, — 

As the pure soul, that winged its night to-day, — 
Where all is love and joy forever more ! 

Others there are, who would prolong the day, 
Of their departure from Earth's gloomy 
prison ; 

Who see not heaven's illuminating ray, 

Shine o'er their path, as morning star arisen ! 

From far off land, — where Faith is fondly 
nursed, — 

She came as exile from her native shore ; 
Rich in the blessings, and the sacred trust, 

That from its sainted breast she proudly bore. 

Thro' years of gloom, of sunshine, and of tears, 
She bears her works before the throne of 
Him, 

Who reigns eternal thro' the changing years, — 
The mighty God of Saints and Seraphim ! 



850 A LEUEND. 

The fond, true mother, now may find repose, 
From earthly cares, beneath the still cold sod ; 

Whilst heaven's fair light before that spirit goes. 
To meet the glories of the Living God ! 

We mourn the dead, who pass from earth 
away,- - 

A tribute dear to nature and to love ; 
But for the just, who seek, Eternal Day ! 

There is but joy, as angel's song above. 

Example fair, — be ours as hers the close, 
Of lifes sweet ending, — thro' its pitfalls rife; 

Be ours the joys that bring the soul repose, 
Amid the edories of the future life ! 



-:o:- 



A LEGEND. 

Written on the remarkable legend connected with one of 
St. Francis of Sales breviaries, which opened of its own ac- 
cord, after the saint's death, and emitted sweet odors. 

The precious volume often read, 
The sainted hand hath laid aside ; 

For he, who touched its leaves is dead, — 
His soul in Heaven beatified ! 



IN MEMORIAM. 351 

But Heavenly wish and saintly prayer, 
E'en thro' its pages, are not hid; 

The sanctity of Sales is there, 
As odor sweet, its leaves amid ! 

The breviary neglected lies, — 
Companion of the pious dead ; — 

But odors from the leaves arise, 
And wide the open page is spread! 

Oh ! mystery of Love Divine ! 

Untouched by man, the page to ope; 
That his great love for God should shine, 

Thro' perfumed leaf, as flowers of Hope ! 

Would that our lives at evening's close, 
When earthly joys no longer bloom; 

In man's best thoughts would e'er repose,— 
Emitting prayerful sweet perfume. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

Away from the strife and the cares of life 
To the light that never grows dim ! 

There to sing the praise of the God of Days 
With the Saints and the Seraphim. 



352 IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 

■ 

Away from the moil, and the weary toil 
Of this world, with death at its core ! 

To breathe the pure air of an endless prayer, 
Where sorrow and pain are no more. 

Away 'mid the gleams of the morning's beams 
To the Throne of Empyrean bright, 

Thro' boundless space to the Seat of Grace, 
There to joy in its heavenly light. 

And that soul's last breath, ere freed by death; 

To a dear companion was given ; 
'Ere it winged its flight, thro' realms of light 

" We shall meet again in heaven ! " 

May those words of cheer be forever near 
The hearts that have nobly striven, 

To reach the goal of that earnest soul, — 
The home of the Just in heaven. 



IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 

Rest, rest from the cares and the sorrows of 
life, 
Sweet spirit eternally blest ! 
Rest, rest from the conflict of death, and its 
strife, 
On your Saviour's all comforting; breast ! 



IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 353 

On that day dear to souls, was yours borne 
away — • 
On the wings of the Angel of Light ! 
From the gloom of this earth to God's infinite 
day, 
Unending to breathe its delight ! 

Rest, rest, from the struggle — the victory 's won, 
And the soul from its shadows set free ; 

May its glories shine bright as the light of the 
sun, 
That streams o'er eternity's sea. 

From the [tain and the anguish that sin brings 
to all ; 
From the sickness, protracted and deep ; 
Your body enfranchised escapes from their 
thrall, 
Till the Angel awakens its sleep ! 

To the dear ones of earth may a comfort arise, 
As sweet as the bliss of your own ! 

That their spirits as pure may ascend thro' the 
skies ; — - 
Where the Infinite sits on His throne ! 



HELENA M. CAREY'S POEMS. 



■:o:- 



TO THE MUSE. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The pleasing thoughts you bring to me 

Seraphic Queen of Song, 
Are clear as fount of Purity, 

With crystal streams among ; 
You steal upon my hours of rest, 

And beautify my care ; 
With throbs of joy you fill my breast, 

And shine an angel there. 



e> 



Whate'er thou art. whose magic trill, 

Awakes the golden chords ; 
To me as mystic as my will, 

Or thought that shapes my words : 
All beauteous as the morning's light, 

Your song is ever near : 
Which breaks in notes of strange delight 

Upon my startled ear. 



356 the soldier's grave. 

Forsake me not, inspiring voice, 

When cloud and storm are near ; 
Let heavenly thoughts in thee rejoice, 

Thro' beam of sun or tear ; 
Tempt not my weak, untutored mind, 

To stray beyond its bound ; 
Ere thy pure strains are left behind 

For those of siren sound. 



THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 

Here lies the grave of a soldier, 

Festooned with the flowers of the spring: 
The anthem of peace is around it, 

And triumphs, its requiem sing. 

The red-throated robin is simmis; 

His silver note carol on high ; 
Whilst the lilies around it are springing, 

Diffusing their fragrance and joy. 

The foliaged branches are bending 
Their shadows to shelter its bloom ; 

O, the glories of earth are unending, 
For the hero that rests in the tomb. 



THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 357 

We gaze on that grave with emotion, 
Its memories bring joy to the heart ; 

For honor, and truth, and devotion, 
From its silence can never depart. 

The pride of a life is around it, 

Its halo of glory is shed ; 
From the cloud-rifted sky and the sunbeam, 

That gleam o'er the home of the dead. 

Oh ! bring from the trophies of battle, 

The flag that he gallantly bore ; 
With the rents of the sword and the bullet, 

As thro' the red carnage he tore. 

Oh ! bring that unflinching devotion, 

The garland of honor and fame ; 
To deck the loved grave of the sleeper, 

That bears on that headstone his name. 

As long as the stars on our banner, 

Reflect their bright glints in the wave ; 

So long shall the soldier be honored, 
With memories outlivins; the grave. 

And the tears of the cloud and the dew drop 
Shall moisten the mounds where they rest, 

Till the earth, at her final upheaving, 
Shall send forth her heroes as blest. 



858 MEMORY OF DEPARTED WORTH. 



MEMORY OF DEPARTED WORTH. 

Only a column of marble — 

Only a tablet to fame — 
A very few feet at the highest, 

Just space for each honored name. 

Only a column of marble — 

Beautiful, fair, and white, 
For youths and maidens to gaze on, 

With reverence and delight ! 

Only a Spartan's honor — 

Only a hero's reward ; 
Thro' the havoc of death and battle, 

When Liberty stood on guard ! 

A few little thousand dollars ! 

The cost of some worthless show ; 
Would build them a column of marble, 

Thro' the ages that come and go. 

How trivial the death of a hero, 
Who dies in defence of his land ; 

When the changers of dimes and dollars 
Hold his country's honor in hand. 



MEMORY OF DEPARTED WORTH. 350 

A few little faded flowers — 

That die ere their perfume is shed, 

Is all the tribute you pay them, 

Whose blood for your cause w T as shed ! 

They gave you freedom and honor, 

Happiness, glory, and fame; 
And now you deny them a column, 

Whereon to inscribe their name. 

The great of your cause is remembered, 

In marble piercing the air ; 
But the lowly hero of battle 

May rest undistinguished there. 

Shame on such puny devotion ! 

When the pride of your country lies dead ; 
And your flag sheds its gleams of honor, 

Wherever its folds are spread. 

O, build them a column of marble, 

Beautiful, fair, and white, 
To glow in the gleam of the sunshine, 

And chasten the gloom of the night! 

Their life has forever departed — 
Their honor and glory are thine ; 

Then show to the children around you, 
That Liberty's cause is divine ! 



360 OCTOBER. 



OCTOBER. 

Over the river the woods are aglow, — 
And the gorgeous feast is spread ! 

For royal October is speeding on, 

With a crown for each drooping head. 

For the garnered treasure of nature yields 
Her vintage of ripened cheer, 

To him, the kingliest of the months — 
The prince of the " Rolling Year.'' 

Over the river, the crimson and gold, 

Border the clear blue sky — 
Beautiful emblems of peace and love ; 

Of sweet contentment and joy. 

Over the river the mellow tints 
Of nature are brilliant and fair ; 

Lighting the soul with that joyous calm, 
That comes as the voice of pray'r. 

Down in the valley, away on the hill ; 

By river, and mountain, and spring : 
The beautiful robe of the year is spread, 

Bright as an angel's wing! 



OCTOBER. 



361 



Over the river, the feast is o'er — 
The revel 's a thing of the past ; 

For surly November comes sweeping on, 
On his fierce, unpitying blast. 

Over the river the trees are hare, 

The leaves are withered and strown ; 

Whilst Gloom, and Death, and grim Despair 
Now stalk where their glories shone. 

Over the river our lives are set, 
As the leaves that wither and die ; 

Over the river our souls shall drift 
To their beautiful home on high ! 

Oh! may their autumn he fair and bright, 

Over the river of love ; 
Winging their course thro' realms of light 

To the home of the just, above. 

Oli ! may they glow as October's tints, 

Before that throne on high, 
Where a feast of joy is forever spread, 

Whose beauties shall never die. 



362 NEW YEARS DAY. 



NEW YEARS DAY. 

When the Christmas bells have ceased to ring; 

And the Christmas choirs have ceased to sins: ; 

There is another hopeful day, 

That comes to steal our hearts away ; 

That brings fresh mem'ries to the mind, 

As fair as those it left behind. 

In youth's bright day how sweet the song, 
That brings this beauteous day along ; 
The coming hopes, with roseate brow, 
Make each New Year a gladsome vow : 
Make each New Year, more prized, more blest, 
More beautiful than all the rest. 

Let me be one of those whose voice 
Shall ever in its birth rejoice; 
Let me be one of those whose vow, 
Shall never stain its angel brow ; 
Let me be one of those whose song, 
Its sweetest mem'ries 'twould prolong. 

This hopeful day, so full of cheer, 
Points sweetly to the opened year ; 



REGRET. N 363 

Invites the giddy and the gay, 

To sober thoughts, and sober play ; 

Invites the drunkard to avoid 

The cup that does his manhood hide. 

Invites us all, with passions rife, 

To lead a better, purer life ; 

Invites each tender, noble thought 

To what in other years it sought; 

Invites us all to strive and pray, 

That God would bless this K"ew Years Day. 

This New Years Day may blessings rest 
Upon the hearts that would be blest ; 
This New Years Day may pardon crown 
The souls that would God's mercies frown ; 
This New Years Day with treasures stored, 
Be God's eternal name adored. 



-:o:- 



REGRET. 

There comes a void within the heart, 

At word unkindly spoken ; 
There comes a pang from out it depths, 

At promise made, then broken ; 



: )!)4 REGRET. 

Could we recall the bitter word 
We often speak unthinking ; 

What sunshine would our lives impart — 
What hearts would save from sinking. 

Unguarded words, thus lightly sped, 

As barbed steel will wound us ; 
Will east their gloom upon the joys 

That Xature flings around us ! 
The promise made — that broken is — 

Oft brings hot tears of sorrow ; 
That flow unceasing as the years. 

Which know no bright to-morrow. 

Regret will come when tis too late, — 
The heart's best thoughts revealing : 

But words of balm can ne'er restore 
. Our wounded love or feeling; 

If we a promise give, Oh ! let 
Our actions prove its keeping; 

If angry words our thoughts would speak, 
Let them ne'er end in weeping. 



joy. 365 



JOY. 



Sweet little word, what spell hast thou 

To still the heart's emotion ? 
From whence the thrill that wreathes the brow, 

As rippling streams commotion ? 
The pulse of thought, as quickly Hies, 

As beam that lights the morning; 
Or as the rainbow tint that dies, 

Ere sky's fair arch adorning. 

Thou fliest on rosy wings of light 

To still the throbs of sorrow, — 
With thee, sweet word, there is no night, 

No yesterday, nor morrow ! 
Thou bringst balm to soothe the heart, — 

Bright sunshine to the weeping; 
Thy cheerful beams upon us dart 

In waking hours, or sleeping. 

In many shapes you come to bind 

The wounds that sorely try us ; 
And deeply crushed in heart and mind. 

Your angel smiles espy us ! 
Life would be dreary, sad and lone, 

If thy sweet face were hidden ; — 
Thou art as sun that brightly shone. 

At God's eternal bidding ! 



360 pity. 



PITY 



These four little letters, as Mercy flow ! 

Alluring as desert spring ; 
When the burning sands unpitying blow, 

On the Simoon's fatal wing ! 
As the Alpine shelter from storm and death, 

Their sweet caresses fling ; 
Or the dewy morning's scented breath, 

That streams o'er the budding spring ! 

How grateful to God is the heart that feels, 

For the sorrows that droop the mind ; 
For the soothing word, that as sunshine steals, 

O'er the spirit that shadows bind ! 
They come as song of far off dream, 

That shone o'er Life's early morn ! 
Or as the shimmer of woodland stream, 

From its shady fringes borne ! 

Sweet word of comfort — the angel breast 

That utters your song of cheer ; 
To the wounded heart, as balm is pressed, 

Pathetic, and sweet and dear ! 
Who loves to nurture your beam of light, 

Diffusing its genial rays ; 
Dispels the gloom that enshrouds our night, 

And warms our hearts in praise. 



EASTER SONG. 367 



EASTER SONG. 

The rosy morn of Easter-Tide 

From far Jerusalem speeds its way ; 
Fringed with golden streams of light 
To guild this bright transcendent day ! 

The clouds of gloom 

That draped the Tomb, 
Of Him who died for sins of Man : 

Are rolled away 

On this fair day, 
The brightest one since Time began. ! 

Celestial song of bliss untold ! 

Is heard from sphere to sphere to-day ! 
The choirs of Heaven, entrancing roll 
The mighty anthem far away ! 

From star to star, 

Is heard a far ; 
Alleluias ring — for God is ris'n ! 

This day is streamed 

O'er man redeemed, 
The light that gleams o'er earthly prison. 



368 EASTER SONG. 

The chimes of earth in silver tones, 

Announce this joyous feast of love ; 
The tireless song of angels pour 
It's paeans of glory from above ! 

Thou light supreme, 

Pour down your beam, 
Upon our sinful souls to-day ; . 

As fair as when 

The Magdalene 
Bent loving steps to where You lay. 

0, may our hearts, as Sepulcher 

Be lit by God's unfading light ; 
0, may the angel shine within 

Their darkened chambers, robed in light ! 

O, may the soul 

Its treasure roll, 
Of purest thought, and love sublime ; 

Till doubt and fear 

Shall disappear,, 
Upon the fleeting wings of Time. 



TO SISTER NELLIE. 369 



TO SISTER NELLIE. 

I once had a rose-cheeked sister, 

With tresses of golden hair; 
And eye as brown as the Autumn 

When Nature has heard his prayer : 
Unangered we played together, 

Innocent, loving, and kind ; 
But the angels bore her from me, 

And left me in grief behind. 

( )ver that brow of opal, 

The seal of heaven was set ; 
Celestial, pure, and tender, 

Where heavenly graces met : 
Around those lips angelic, 

The budding prayer was found ; 
That child-like lisped its fervor 

Pathetic, and sweet of sound. 

Purer than spring's bright lily, 

That kind hands strewed on her breast 
Fairer that soul, and brighter, 

Than the crescent that lights the west : 



870 death's souvenir. 

Tho' years and years have vanished, 
Since that dark and tearful day, 

Unforgetting*, I grieve and sorrow. 
For the glory they bore away. 

Ah ! would I may meet thee, Nellie, 

When the sorrows of earth are o'er : 
When borne away thro' the shadows, 

To the light of a brighter shore ! 
With thee forever and ever, 

To sing God's song of praise ! 
Where Death's dark pangs ne'er sever, 

The glories that bind our days. 



-:o:- 



DEATITS SOUVEMR. 

What marvelous charm this braid of gold — 

The strands of my sister's hair ; 
Has for me, who loved her, with love untold, - 

Unselfish beyond compare ! 
Sad are my thoughts thro' the welling tears, 

That moisten its burnished sheen ; 
When I think of childhood's rosy years. 

And their happy days between. 



death's souvenir. 371 

The mem'ries that float on the waves of time, 

Are, as sad weird notes of song ; 
Which breathe their sorrows in measured 
rhyme, 

That ghost-like around us throng ! 
They come when recalled by some fond regret, 

As this golden tress of hair; 
That shines anew where its glints are wet, 

By the tearful eye of prayer ! 

Short lived our grief, as the tint ot flower, 

For the loved ones gone before ; 
As fleeting shadow that dims the hour, 

Then breaks into light once more ; 
Ephemeral all, are our lives' fond ties, 

As shadows around them set : 
And the anguished hearts — sad tearful eyes — 

Too soon, alas! forget! 

How many there are, avIio hoard away, 

The treasures that beauty wore ; 
In silken tresses of gold or gray, 

Whose life throbs are felt no more ! 
How many there are whose tears are shed, 

As mine, o'er some golden braid ; 
Whose wearer in life to God has fled — 

Where beauty shall never fade ! 



372 devotion's hymn. 



DEVOTION'S HYMN. 

Here, where the cypress and willow 

Are bending their soft cooling shade ; 
Where the fair grassy mound, as a pillow, 

Is flowered, — where a hero is laid; 
With the sunbeams of heaven around it ; 

With the dewdrop to crystal its sheen : 
0, the peace and the stillness, delicious ! 

That rest 'neath this fair wave of green. 

Beneath lie the bones of a soldier, — 

Sad relics of conflict and strife. — 
When the peace of our homes was endangered, 

And our country was struggling for life ; 
O'er that grave is the sad, quaint inscription, 

Begrudgingly lettered, and dim ; 
With no name, with no deed of distinction, 

To record the bright glories of him. 

Brave heart ! in thy coldness of slumber, 
You reck not indifference's frown, 

Those three iron letters but number 
Your Glory, Achievements, Henoivn ! * 

* G. A. R. 



devotion's hymn. 373 

They speak, as the Spartan, whose glory, 
Has sped thro' the centuries down ; 

They speak of Devotion's bright story, 
Her honor, her fame, and her crown. 

See yonder fair obelisk * gleaming — 
Brightly piercing the clear, sunny dome ! 

'Neath that white shaft, a soldier lies dreaming, 
Who as you fought for country and home ; 

But wealth has inscribed his achievements, 
In letters artistic and bright ; 

Whilst the equal loved grave that surrounds 

Is dark as the shadows of night ! 

Fair emblems of love and devotion — 

Sweet tributes of earth, dew, and sun— 
We strew o'er your grave with emotion, 

For all that your valor has won : 
Their perfume as love shall awaken 

The anthem that swells in our breast, 
That your odor, as theirs, may be taken 

To the home of the pure and the blest ! 



* Gen. Wool's monument. 



374 THANKSGIVING MUSINGS. 



THANKSGIVING MUSINGS. 

How many unite on this day of praise, 

To thank the God of Light ? 
How many brave hearts their voices raise, 

For blessings which delight ? 
How many are counting the days of gloom, 

Of food and fire bereft ; 
Awaiting the sunny days of bloom, 

When winter's clouds are cleft. 

In fancy they see the plenteous board, 

With earth's fair dainties spread ! 
In fancy they see rich larders stored, 

With pastry, meat, and bread ; 
In fancy they see the genial fire 

Pour our its cheering rays ; 
Then turn their hearts where gloom and night 

Enshroud their own dark days. 

How many there are from plenteous store, 

Would from its surplus part ? 
How many who count their millions o'er 

Would light one clouded heart ? 



THANKSGIVING MUSINGS. 375 

How many who see the shivering child, 

Intrude his hand for bread ; 
Forget that tho' Son of Man — reviled — 

Adorns his drooping head ? 

How many who revel, and feast to-day, 

Forget the burning tears ; 
That sorrow bears on her wings away, 

As shades of vanished years ? 
How many obey the prompting soul, 

That would God's gifts bestow ; 
On him whose bounty — A Miser's dole, 

Is given here below? 

Alas, that this day such thoughts would bring, 

When all around looks bright ; 
Alas, that hunger, on gloomy wing, 

Should brood around its night! 
Alas, that Bounty should lock her store, 

Of raiment food and tire, 
Against the victims, that crowd her door, — 

Whose pleadings the wealthy tire. 

Yes, shout the blessings the Master sends. 

With flippant tongue of praise ! 
Yes, hoard the treasures her bounty lends, 

This life's short fleeting days : 
But, Oh! remember, another day, 

With feast more glorious spread ! 
Will beam on our souls, o'er Time's decay, 

When heaven shall judo-e her dead ! 



370 THE SHAMROCK. 



THE SHAMROCK. 

The summer's breeze ne'er stirs thy leaves 

In shady dell or glen ; 
For closely pressed to earth's fair breast. 

You shun the gaze of men ; 
Yet on this day when hearts are gay, 

Thy trefoil leaf is sought ; 
For spell thou hast, to speak the past, 

And spin the web of thought. 

Thy triple crest, o'er many a breast, 

Is fondly pressed to-day ; 
For mem'ries dear to song and cheer, 

Thy tiny leaves portray ; 
Thy hymn is sung by old and young, 

On each recurring year ; 
And tales of old again are told, 

That make thy mem'ry dear. 

With thee are twined the links that bind, 
Our hearts to Freedom's cause ; 

With thee belongs the tuneful songs, 
Which storied legend draws ; 



Ireland's evergreens. 877 

Tho' far away our thoughts to-day, 

Our prayerful wishes rise 
That Freedom's beam o'er thee shall stream, 

'Neath Erin's sunny skies. 

On one frail stem, this little gem, 

United grows, and fair! 
Emblem of Him, who reigns supreme, 

O'er sky, and earth, and air ; 
Thy modest sheen of fairest green, 

Engraven is, and true, 
Upon our hearts, whose joy imparts 

A srl or y to the view ! 



:o:- 



IRELAND'S EVERGREENS. 

The following; poem was written on receiving from Ire- 
land, sprigs of the Shamrock, and leaves of the Holly, Ivy 
and Laurel. 

Emblem of Erin's glorious past, 

Of Erin's strife thro' blood and gloom ; 

Ah ! little plant, what power thou hast, 
To soothe the exile's lonely doom ! 

Sweet visitant from o'er the sea, 
Renowned in story and in song ; 

O, speak thy troubled tale to me 

Of shattered hope, and treasured wrong. 



378 Ireland's evergreens. 

Show where the blood marks stained thy face 
Thou emblem of the triune God ! 

Show where its beauty and its grace, 
By foreign foot, to earth were trod. 

And with thee comes, all cheer and song, 
The trusting holly's prickly leaf! 

A hymn of joy its green among ! 
With not a shade of care or grief. 

Sweet prudish leaf, what peace and joy 
Around thee cluster, 'round thee play ; 

The festive hours flew faster by, 

When shone thy boughs on Christmas Day. 

Here comes the friend of ruins gray — 
The dark green ivy's pointed leaf; 

Historian of the. world's decay, 

In friendship's van — he comes the chief. 

Oh ! what a tale couldst thou unfold 
Of death and havoc, strife and blood ; 

Of mould'ring fane, and castle old, 
That long the tyrant host withstood. 

As are thy roots in Ireland set — 

Defying Time's extinctive law — 
So will our dreams of Freedom yet, 

From out the gloom their glories draw. 



THE MAY-LTLY. 379 

To crown the trios' song of praise, 
The laurel's lanceolate leaf appears, 

With sweet aroma for its bays — 
Tie comes the leaf that never sears. 

Tho' foot of mine hath never trod, 

The lovely land from whence ye came; 

Yet are ye dear as is the sod, 

That hides in death some treasured name. 



-:o: 



THE MAY-LILY. 



TO MY ESTEEMED FRIEND, MARY E. A. BOYLE. 



Thou tiny glory of the spring 
O, where hast thou been hid ? 

I've come once more to see the dell 
Where ope'd thy drooping lid ; 

I've come once more to see thy bells 

In elfin beauty grow ; 
I've come once more to seek the mound 

Whereon thy Avhite cups blow; 

I've come to pluck thy slender stem ; 

To wear thee next my heart ; 
Thou beautiful created thing, 

How fair and pure thou art ! 



380 THE MAY-LILY. 

Dear link of childhood's happy days,— 
Sweet offspring of the earth : 

How gladly does my heart respond 
To thine angelic birth. 

Thou perfumed daughter of the sod, — 

Ephemeral and bright ; 
Thy beauteous life is spotless, brief, — 

A fragrance and delight. 

Thou soul of earth ! I see in thee 

A type of future bliss, — 
The resurrection and the hope 

Of home more fair than this. 

Where life is measured, not by years ; 

Where death has no control ; 
Where all is love, and light, and joy,— 

The lilies of the soul ! 

I see in thee a type of Him, 

Whose will created thee : 
The Burden of the angels hymn, — 

The Source of purity. 

I see in thee a type of her, 

Who gave the Saviour birth, — 

The purest lily of her sex 
That ever trod the earth. 



FAREWELL TO MAY. 381 



FAREWELL TO MAY. 

Sweet servant of the year farewell, 

With grateful hearts we part with thee ; 
How fair thy life no pen can tell — 

Forever dear to memory ; 
Fair, sunny queen of bud and bloom — 

You left our earth a paradise ; 
From April's tear, and winter's gloom, 

You robed her in your em 'raid dyes. 

The tints of flower, the song of bird, 

Around your life a glory shed! 
The perfumed leaves the zephyrs stirred 

Are, as thy days, too fleeting sped ; 
As joy you came, as joy you leave — 

The sweetest month that crowns the year 
Then why should we in sorrow grieve V 

Why shed o'er thee the parting tear ? 

But vain regrets will ne'er recall 

The happy hours we spent with thee ; 
Where shone thy beams, the shadoAvs fall, 

For pleasure's dream departs with thee ! 
Your fair successor, June, is here, 

With riper cheek and brighter tress ; 
Thro' beam of sun does she appear, 

Adorned with your sun woven dress. 



382 J.UNE. 



JUNE. 



TIail ! beauteous daughter of the sun, — 
The empress of the " rolling year," 

How swiftly does your chariot run, 
When Phoebus is the charioteer ; 

And glorying in your onward flight, 

Earth's forces reach Solstitial height. 

Sweet month of bird, of plant, and flower. — 
The paradise of God's fair earth; 

How sweet to rest within thy bower, 
And paint thy glorious life and birth : 

Of earth's bright Twelve thou art the gem— 

The ruby in that diadem. 

Mirror of Heaven's delights art thou, 
Queen of the earth — her life and bloom, 

God's halo rests upon your brow, 
As when creation lit your gloom ! 

The consecrated month of Him 

Who reigns above the Seraphim. 

Than is the Sun's meridian beam ; 

Than is thy bowers cooling shade : 
His love and mercy on us stream, 

Prom out the worlds which he has made, 
From star to star His rays Divine 
Do on our souls in splendor shine. 



THE LIGHT OF GOD. 383 



THE LIGHT OF GOD. 

Grief and wrong will droop the heart, 
Will cloud the brow with care ; 

Will pierce fair Hope, as venomed dart, 
And hush the voice of Pray'r. 

But God who soothes the anguished mind. 

Will heal its wounds with balm ; 
Will still its troubles, as the wind, 

That, dies before the calm. 

Ah ! lost indeed are they who yield 

Their hearts to dark Despair ; 
Who take not up that saving shield, — 

The soul-protecting Pray'r. 

There is a light within our breast, 

The tempest cannot shroud ; 
It breaks in glory when oppressed, 

As lightning from the cloud. 

The voice of God, is this fair light, 

Which shines forever there : 
It sparkles in the gloom of night. 

And sanctifies our care. 



384 WHAT THE STAR SAW. 

There is no heart however dark, 
That does not hear within ; 

This Fire of Love— this Heavenly Spar 
Whose darkened cloud is Sin. 

Man may oppress his fellow man ; 

May rule with stern decree ; 
But God revokes the cruel ban 

With light and liberty. 

For God who loves the stricken soul 
Will not withdraw His light ; 

But in His mercy make it whole, 
A marvel of delight ! 



-:<>: 



WHAT THE STAR SAW. 

Down from its home, in the blue dome, 

What did the little star see ? 
Rivers and streams glinting his beams, — 

Crooning their song to the lea ! 
Mountains, lakes, fells, beautiful dells ; 

Groves where the little birds nod ; 
Sweet shady bowers, hiding the flowers, — 

Breathing the perfume of God ! 



WHAT THE STAR SAW. S8i 

Down from its height hearing its light ; 

Down in the dew crystal ed earth ; 
Shedding its beam over the stream, 

Joining its song and its mirth ; 
Gladly would bear, joy through the air; 

Breaking the shadows of niffht: ' 
Gladly would roam, down from its home — 

Beaming its love and its light ! 

Down once again, over the main; 

What did the little star see ? 
Shipwreck and death, blood sprinkled heath ; 

Foot-prints of strife on the lea ! 
Sorrow and gloom, shrouding the tomb; 

Poverty, malice and pain ! 
Riches and dress, hunger's caress ! 

Bearing its sting to the brain ! 

Tempest and tear, verdure and sear ; 

Cabin, and mansion and hall ; 
Darkness and gloom, hiding earth's bloom, 

Bearing their shadows o'er all! 
Changeless and true, up in the blue ; 

There would the little star rest ; 
Fadeless and bright, bending its light, 

To soften the cares in our breast! 



386 youth's memories. 



YOUTH'S MEMORIES. 



Air : — " Gramachree." 



I'm leaving thee, thou fair, bright land, 

In which my youth was nursed ; 
Thy rock-hound coast and golden strand, 

Where strayed my footsteps first ; 
The grassy fields, with daisies specked, 

That cheered the summer's day ; 
The crystal lake, with lilies decked, 

With me o'er earth shall stray. 

The fairy rath of Elfin Queen, 

With grassy rampart bound ; 
Where undismayed I trod the green, 

And mocked the echo's sound ; 
Where liquid song of lark was heard 

In rippling notes arise; 
Of Ireland's choir the sweetest bird 

That sings beneath her skies. 

The churchyard where my parents sleep 
Now fades before mines eyes ; 

Their tender memories, fond and deep, 
Shall mingle with my sighs ; 



youth's memories. 387 

Alone upon the ocean's breast — 

Where'er my footsteps stray, 
My prayerful thoughts shall ever rest 

Beside their mounds of clay. 

I care not whence they bear me now — 

How fiercely breaks the storm — 
My heart's as cold as winter's brow, 1 

That erst beat true and warm ; 
The parting from my native shore, 

Is as a beam of light, 
That shows some image 'twould adore, 

Then vanishes in night. 

How many hearts, as mine have strayed 

Across that boundless sea; 
How many hands in death are laid 

That struggled to be free ; 
Yet undeterred I fly the home 

To memory ever dear — 
Its bright green fields, and sapphire dome, 

For skies less bright and clear. 



388 THOUGHTS. 



THOUGHTS. 

From bounteous shore of happy land, 

I gaze across the sea ; 
Where tyranny with blood-stained hand 

Is smiting Liberty ! 
And thoughts as surging as the wave, 

When tempests' lightning dart ; 
Or, as the shadows of the grave, 

Break o'er my swelling heart. 

Beyond the boundless field of foam, 

The spoiler's bolt is sped ; 
O'er many a poor, secluded home 

The cloud of grief is spread ; 
O'er many a heart the sun has set, 

In sorrow and in gloom ; 
That as the rose, with dew-drop wet. 

Was formed to bud and bloom ! 

Oh, God! how long since Erin's foe 

Commenced his work of death ! 
What broken hearts, what tears, what woe. 

Have gulped its life beneath ; 
Yet will the sun as brightly shine 

O'er mountain, stream, and flood, 
As if no hand incarnadine 

Had dyed its fields in blood. 



THOUGHTS. 889 

Ob ! what a cruel wretch is he — 

How false unto his kind — 
Whose heart ne'er throbs for misery, — - 

"Whose hands its shackles bind. 
From Bodyke conies eviction's cry, 

As piteous as of yore ; 
Its smoking huts, its lurid sky, 

In horror reach our shore ! 

False Saxon land, to pity dead, 

■Ring out your song of praise ! 
Your blood-writ laws o'er earth are spread 

Unhallowed as your days ; 
The surging grief, the tear of shame, 

The homeless orphan's cry, 
Will wreathe in blood your cruel name 

As warnings ere you die ! 

Oh ! jubilee of crimes unheard : 

Ring out your chimes of woe ! 
Oh, song! whose piteous strains have stirred 

The years that come and go ; 
There is no sadder song than thine — 

Famed children of the Gael — 
There gleams no diamond in you mine. 

No sunbeam in your wail. 



390 AUTUMN LEAVES. 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 

The voice of Nature in tones sublime, 
Is touching the sweet, weird chords of Time : 
Is tinting the leaves with gold and red, 
As morning blushes, Hyperion spread ! 

The evening sunset is not more fair, 
Than the burning glories that ripen there ; 
The Bow of heaven, of varied hue, 
Is not to Nature, in tint more true ! 

Skirting the margin of stream and lake, 

As joy reflected their colors break ! 

As beauty's cheek, consumptive glows, 

Their life's sweet sunset more beauteous grows. 

The robin has fled the greenwood shade, 
Forsaking the nest which his skill had made ; 
Bearing his song and his cheer away, 
Ere the shadows fall on the autumn day. 

The Bee and the Ant have housed their store, 
Awaiting the winter's gloom once more ; 
Teaching a lesson to man the while, 
To garner God's love, while the heavens smile. 



A FOURTH OF JULY SONG. 301 



OCTOBER GLORIES. 

The whispering leaves in crimson tints, 

And yellow gold outspread, 
Are fair as morning's safron glints, 

Or evening's sunset red ; 
Where'er I gaze their glories beam, 

As light of setting sun, 
Reflected in the glancing stream, 

Ere his bright course is run. 



A FOURTH OF JULY SONG. 

How gayly dressed are the people to-day; 

How tilled are their hearts with joy ; 
Cares are forgotten and cast away, 

For this is the Fourth of July. 

» 

Come let us follow the life and drum ; 

Let 's tread to the measure of Life ! 
Come beautiful girls, Oh come ! Oh come ! 

Come husband, and children, and wife. 



392 GATHERING LILIES. 

For Liberty's day comes once in a year, 

With fair corona of joy ! 
Then proudly awaken its song of cheer — 

The beautiful Fourth of July ! 

Time's fleeting wings shall bear it away, 

Like some vain bauble or toy ! 
Leaving gloom in the path which it lit to-day ,- 

The beautiful Fourth of July. 

Oh ! come ! for the hour of toil draws nigh ; 

Come taste of each vanishing sweet — 
Oh ! come ! as love this Fourth of July, — 

Where Freedom's proud children meet ! 



:o:- 



GATHERING LLLIES. 

From yonder bough the robin trills 

His song of welcome to the May ; 
His crimson breast with rapture fills, 

For nature dons her holiday ; 
The air gives back the swelling notes 

That quiver thro' the breeze; 
O'er tranquil hearts their sweetness floats, 

A joy amid the budding trees ! 



THE RESURRECTION OF NATURE. 393 

The lily drooping on its stem, 

Its fairy Lolls of white disclose, 
A fairer and a sweeter hymn 

Than robin's song, or tint of rose, 
The glory of the vernal sod, — 

Of earth, the fairest, sweetest flow'r, 
Whose tiny cups with perfume nod, 

Within her scented bower. 

I left my home this morning fair 

To seek the dell wherein they bloom: 
To wear their glories in my hair, 

And from their cups to catch perfume ; 
To read a lesson from their birth ; 

To ponder o'er their swift decay ; 
Which shows the teardrop in the mirth 

That marks our footsteps day by day. 



-:o:- 



THE RESURRECTION OF NATURE. 

The rustling leaves come scurrying down, 

From the hungry sapless trees; 
And Nature's beautiful tinted robe, 

Is sport for the wayward breeze ; 
Draggled and soiled in the muddy streets, 

Their beauty is thing of the past; 
And the glory that lit the soul with joy, 

Id the swirl of death is cast. 



394 boyhood's freaks. 

Heedless our step o'er their faded bloom, 

Ne'er thinking of Time's decay ; 
How our life, as theirs, shall end in gloom. 

When its autumn is rolled away ; 
Heedless our thoughts as the wanton blast, 

That severs their glints of fire ; 
That we in our pride shall breathe at last 

When the joys of this Earth expire. 

But Nature's glories shall bloom once more. 

And the trees their green shall wear ; 
When winter's shadows have flitted o'er 

And the spring renews her pray'r : 
From the bare, cold sod, the tiny plant, 

Shall tremblingly raise its head ; 
As the soul released from its mortal eoil, 

Thro' heaven's fair arch is led ! 



-:o:- 



BOYHOOD'S FREAKS. 

The many freaks of boyhood, 
How reckless in their mirth ; 

Where nature spreads her treasures 
Over the gladsome earth ! 

When neither care nor sorrow- 
Clouded his summer's day : 

And his truant life was happy, 
As butterfly at play ! 



boyhood's freaks. 39' 

Braving the rosy orchard — 

Fair youth's Hesperides — 
Lost in fear and wonder 

Beneath its bending trees ; 
Plucking the mellow pippin 

That drooped from bending bough — 
Startled at throbs of conscience, 

That thrill his bosom now. 

Unheeding brier or thorn — 

The tangled glen derides — 
To pick the ripened berries 

That grew along its sides ; 
The wild rose and the blue-bell 

Would next receive his care — 
For youth has tender fancies, 

For some one's golden hair ! 

Chasing the tinted glory 

Over the grassy crest; 
Peering among the branches — 

Seeking the robin's nest ; 
Hiding away the school books, 

That would enslave the will ; 
W caving the mitcher's story 

To baffle father's skill ! 

Tempting the shining river, 

Clear as its crystal gleam ; 
Chasing his mocking shadow, — 

Reflected in its stream ; 



391) boyhood's freaks. 

Unheeding mother's warning 

To pluck the lily white, 
That grew 'mid the tangled sedges, 

Tempting and fair and bright. 

Plucking the yellow blossom, 

'Gainst blame — the talisman ; 
Securely hid in the bosom, 

Thro' which dire terrors ran ; 
Skulking away in the shadows ; 

Fearful of Fate's decree ; 
Wishing the past forgotten 

Ere reaching father's knee. 

The morning of life how valiant. 

As hero of tale or song ; 
Bright deeds would achieve in fancy 

Would move the world along ; 
Where beauty's charms are captive, 

A champion would find in youth ; 
Brave as the famed Orestes ; 

Pure as the heart of truth ! 

The tale of love and sorrow, 

That dimmed the eyes in tears ; 
The fate of the brave Leander, 

Remembered adown the years ; 
The castle of giant Ogre 

Where captive virgins wept ; 
Awaiting the direful summons. 

Delayed, while the monster slept ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 397 

Him would he face with truncheon, 

Would battel', pound, and kill ; 
Would steal the golden apples, 

That foiled enchanter's skill ; 
Him would he roast and simmer 

Before that glowing: fire : 
Or tear the Cyclops eve out, 

That lit his tierce desire. 

But time dispels the fancies, 

That wreathe the youthful mind, 
And sober thoughts less brilliant 

It's equinoctials hind ! 
But oh ! give me the morning-, 

With perfumed crystals wet. 
To life's meridian splendors 

That beam o'er youth's regrets ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

I knelt by thy peaceful bedside, 

Sweet spirit forever blest ; 
When death brought the awful message, 

That laid thy body at rest- 



398 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

Fair us the reed by the river, 

That spirit passed away ; 
To live with its God forever 

In the light of an endless day. 

My soul felt a thrill of emotion, 
As I saw that fair, fair face, 

Reflect the repose of heaven, 
In all its angelic grace. 

Thro' realms of light ascending, 
My heart's deep pray'r rose high, 

To the glorious Queen of Heaven, 
To welcome that soul with joy. 

I grieved for that Christian mother, — 
God's guardian on the earth ; 

Who gave her beautiful treasure 
To Him who shaped its birth. 

God's blessing on such mothers, 
Who give such treasures away ; 

When the light of the cloud is breaking, 
O'er the bright soul passing away. 

Sweet as the breath of the morning, 
Her beautiful spirit has fled ; 

And we gaze on that fair, fair sleeper, 
]STow numbered among the dead. 



affection's memorials. 809 

Her sinless death is a blessing, 

To those she has left behind ; 
Whilst her soul with the saints and angels. 

Companions shall ever find. 



:o:- 



AFFECTION'S MEMORIALS. 

Three little broken columns, 

Over so many graves; 
Three little slender beds of earth, — 

Three little motionless waves. 

Still as the forms they cover ; 

Still as the cold, cold earth ; 
Fair as the spirits that hover, 

Over the soul at birth. 

Three little columns of marble, 

White as the virgin snow ; 
Pure as the life of the sleepers — 

Hushed forever below. 

Tributes of love and affection, 

Beautiful emblems of death ; 
Where are the hopes that once nurtured, 

The forms now lying beneath ? 



400 TN MEMORY. 

Joy, as the light of the morning. 

Brings shadows in her train, 
Chasing the beams of sunlight 

Over the heart and brain ; 

Leaving the broken coin inns 
Of ruin and death behind ; 

Symbols of grief and sorrow, 
Food for the anguished mind. 



-:o: 



IN MEMORY. 

The beauteous form now lying in death, 

So saintly and so fair ; 
Was once a mother's pride and hope, — 

Her treasure and her care. 

Her life was one of purest mold, 

Both dove-like and serene ; 
in all the actions of her life, 

God's hand was plainly seen. 

From early youth her soul was blessed ; 

For God had nurtured there 
The heavenly seeds of Faith and Love, 

Of Hope and earnest Prayer. 



IN MEMORY. 401 

That cold, cold brow, so pure, so fair ; 

So calm in death's repose ; 
Once glowed in all the flush of life, 

As does the beauteous rose. 

But Death's dread summons came and bore 

That saintly soul away, 
To live with angels and be blest, 

Thro' God's eternal day ! 

Then be the tear of sorrow changed. 

To one of joy expressed ; 
That she whose form had brightened earth, 

Now lies among the blest. 

Then be the cup of sorrow blessed, 

For grief should And no place, 
Beside the soul released from sin 

By God's supernal Grace. 

Be ours the effort and the care, 

When Death's dread summons close 

Our life, and all the ties of earth, 
To live in heaven's .repose. 

To die as sinless and as pure, 

As Christian and as brave, 
With hope triumphant over Death, 

The hope beyond the grave. 



402 FAREWELL TO EILLEEN. 



FAREWELL TO EILLEEK 

Farewell to the scenes of my love and my child 
hood, 
To Erin's green vales and her mountains so 
hoar ; 

Farewell to the glen, with its fringes of wild- 
wood, 
Where first 1 met Eilleen, sweet Eilleen 
asthore ; 

Beautiful Eilleen, ever loved Eilleen! 

0, beautiful Eilleen, sweet Eilleen asthore ! 



I part from my love, as the sunset is bending, 
Its shadows o'er scenes, that I'll never see 
more ; 
I part from the mother, whose love was unend- 
ing, 
And I part from my heart, and sweet Eilleen 

asthore. 
Beautiful Eilleen, ever loved Eilleen ! 
beautiful Eilleen, sw^eet Eilleen asthore ! 



NOVEMBER. 403 

My treasure of life I resign to jour keeping, 
The gift is but small, from this world's great 
store ; 
0, give me instead, what my true love is seek- 
ing, 
Your fond trusting heart my own Eilleen 
asthore. 
Beautiful Eilleen, ever loved Eilleen ! 
0, beautiful Eilleen, my Eilleen asthore! 

Adieu my fond love, and each tender emotion, 
That brought me a suitor to all I adore ; 

Thy image shall set me a life of devotion, 
As true as thy heart, my own Eilleen asthore. 

Beautiful Eilleen, ever loved Eilleen ! 

My heart's sweetest idol, my Eilleen asthore ! 



NOVEMBER. 

Dispite your fits and spells of gloom, 

We '11 -miss your beams of sun ; 
Whose rays, now hid in winter's breast, 

Are clouded one by one ; 
You've gathered in the autumn bloom, 

And hid its leaves away ; 
To beautiry the earth anew 

When Spring rolls out her day ! 



404 THE SNOW. 

We thought you chill, and cold, and drear; 

We thought your night was long ; 
But now you 're gone we miss the cheer, 

That lingered in your song ! 
We never feel the loss of worth, 

Until its charm is tied ; 
We never miss the trusted friend 

Till numbered with the dead. 

The crystal sparks of winter came, 
Ere yet your life had fled ; 

His shroud of death was o'er you placed — 
A chaste, cold sheet out-spread — 

His all pervading, unseen sting. 
That thrills the throbbing air ; 

Aroused your tardy drooping wing- 
To fly beyond our prayer ! 



-:o: 



THE SNOW. 

Hurrying, scurrying, crystalized, fair, 
The snow flakes are sped thro' the chill pulse- 
less air ! 
Hither, and thither, on weird wing as light, 
As the moonbeams that steal thro' the shadows 
of night : 



THE SNOW. 405 

On the breast of the river, the cheek of the 

stream, 
Their glance, is as thought, that is merged in a 

dream ; 
The brown tields they cover, with mantle as 

white, 
As childhood enrobes its fair angels of light ! 



Their tender caresses, as playfully sped; 
Their etchings o'er cabin, as mansion are 

spread ; 
On the soft face of beauty, as poverty's cheek, 
Unfavored their kiss, as the lesson they speak ! 
O'er the gay promenade, as grime draggled 

street, 
Their crystals as fair 'neath -the wanderer's 

feet; 
Tho' biting and painful, their venom and sting, 
Unbiased the chill which they bear on their 

wine; ! 



The snow-flakes, as death, come silently down ; 
As noiseless as Charity wreathing her crown ! 
O'er the once shining greenwood their fair robe 
is flung, 

O'er the crisp, shriveled leaves their anthem is 
sung ; 



400 



THE SNOW 



O'er the blue mountain crest as the valley below, 

The bleak face of nature is wreathed in snow ; 

As Hope brightly crowned do their glories ap- 
pear, 

Tho' strewed o'er our path thro' the cloud and 
the sear ! 







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